


Future

by notpoetry



Series: Future [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notpoetry/pseuds/notpoetry
Summary: The end of the War was supposed to be joyous, filled with celebration with the death of the Dark Lord. There are still those suffering from the memories though, those who still relieve the horrors and those who feel guilt for surviving when so many didn't. This is a journey of recovery, this is a story of love.





	1. Writing the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is based two years after the Final Battle. The title of the fic and the chapter names come from Paramore's song "Future" from their fourth and self titled album.

"Hermione, dear, it's good to see you again."

Dr. Reid (she preferred just being called Jenny) greeted Hermione at the door to her office. She half hadn't expected the young witch to return to her office - usually patients with the amount of emotional trauma this young woman had were the most difficult to persuade to come back. She didn't blame them. This office brought out a lot of buried pain and refilled the grave with confidence. Their last consultation was only a brief meet-and-greet between her appointments though, there was still a chance Hermione wouldn't return once they got down to the nitty gritty of her life.

"You too, Jenny. How are you?"

"Good, thank you. Take a seat. Tea or coffee?"

Hermione selected the same plush armchair as last Monday and politely declined. Jenny noted that the girl looked remarkably similar to the photos plastered across the  _Daily Prophet_  articles about the War from two years ago that she had to dig up for a bit of research on her newest patient. She could tell that Hermione was still burdened by the horrors of being on the front lines of a war, but she hadn't buried it either. It was a good note to start on.

"So if you're ready to, I think we should begin to focus on why you sought out professional advice. And don't tell me it's because you're bored and it's free." It was true, Hermione wasn't paying a dime for her services. If the famous Harry Potter walked through her door, he wouldn't be paying either. Or any other Order members. The Ministry had been trying to rebuild favour in the public eye as soon as the War ended, and what better way to do that than openly support the heroes that had saved them all?

Hermione gave her a small smile. "Of course not, that would be a waste of your time. But like I said last week, there's so much I haven't… I could've… I could've done a lot more, for everyone. There was so much death, so much pain, and here I am, pottering around my paid-for flat a block away from Diagon Alley, wasting my life away. And I can't sleep properly half the time, I feel like I ought to be ready for something to go wrong, or someone to call for help. Like it's my responsibility." She folded her hands in her lap, looking at her unpainted nails to avoid the therapists gaze. She knew that talking about her problems would eventually help ease her pain, but it had been two miserable years of being too scared to move her life forward, to accept that her life needed a new focus, a new direction.

"It's perfectly normal to feel this way, although after two years it should be easing up. And once again, I am very happy that you returned. It's a good step to moving on. Now, forgive me if you think it's too out of line, but it's very rare that I have the fortune to consult with people whose lives have been published for Britain, if not the whole wizarding world, to follow for years. It might be a good idea for us to go through my observations and see if we can sort fact from fiction. With the way the Ministry was back then I doubt all of it is true, especially with its tight hold on the  _Daily Prophet_. Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded, thankful for the early interruption. She was sure the older lady could tell that after a few sentences she was struggling with what she wanted to say. She had become a different person after the War, that was for sure.

"So first off, you had a good relationship with the owner of the  _Quibbler_?"

"His daughter, Luna, actually."

"I see, I see. So whatever was published in the  _Quibbler_  would contain more truth?"

"Um, maybe most of it? I didn't end up reading much and I never found it in me to go back and see what they were saying, but anything about nargles is most likely fiction."

"Yes, I skipped those parts myself. So, did you break into Gringotts?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you stole priceless artifacts?"

"They were enchanted with dark magic but yes, ma'am."

"And instead of being subjected to the horrors of those who break into Gringotts, you rode out on a dragon?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Jenny leant back in her chair. She had trained for years to become an accredited therapist, and had spent even more time honing in her trade, learning from the best and dealing with the worst, but this took the cake. Hell, this baked its own cake.

She must've looked as shocked as she felt, because Hermione commented "To be fair, those articles probably make it sound a lot easier than it was. That probably happened in the span of an hour or so and only stealing Helga Hufflepuff's cup was planned."

Jenny laughed, happy that Hermione could see the humour in part of her life's absurdity. "Just a few more things to clarify but I think I have these right. You didn't date Mr. Potter in your fourth year?" Hermione shook her head. "And you dated Ron Weasley for a short time? Or you are currently dating him?"

That question made the girl in front of her sigh. "No, never dated him, just kissed. I'm annoyed that information spread around though, it was a spur of the moment thing."

"Would you want it to be more? Most people who admit they kissed someone are embarrassed, but then again, they come to see me for different reasons." Jenny said conspiratorially.

"No…no I don't think so. Too much time has passed and we're not as close anymore. Two different people came out of Hogwarts that night."

"Do you think you'd be interested in starting a steady relationship?"

"Not with the way my head is now, but hopefully soon if you can help." Jenny smiled. She genuinely liked Hermione, and she couldn't say that about all her patients.

"Well I'll see what I can do. Now, before you said you felt guilty about having survived the War when others didn't. Have you noticed a rather large divergence in your emotions in the past two years, such as lack of emotions or feeling angry or ashamed that you're still alive?"

Hermione considered it for a moment. "I definitely still have emotions. I don't think I've been angrier, and I don't think I would call it shame, guilt fits better there." Jenny scribbled some notes on her notepad as she spoke.  _Not parchment and quill_  she noted. Jenny caught her looking.

"Just basic notes, don't worry."

"I wasn't worried, just curious. You're not using a quill."

Jenny smiled again. "Very observant. Most people don't pick up on that. I have to be able to take notes rather quickly for some people, and this is easier. Don't have to dip it. Alright, now define 'not sleeping well' for me. Is that every night or just every couple of nights? Do you sleep at all, or is it more that you constantly wake? Do you dream normally?"

"Not every night, and mainly I just can't sleep at all. Once I'm asleep I rarely wake. What do you mean by normal dreams?"

"Not nightmares, well, not nightmares every night."

"How often?"

"These days I'd say once every month or two."

"How many times a week do you not sleep?" Jenny's notes had reached a third page on her small notepad.

"It used to be a lot worse, four to five times a night maybe? But now it's twice a week, three times at most. I'd say every 3 days but I'd have to check my calendar."

"That was going to be my next question, good on you for writing it down. Have you participated in any…self-destructive tendencies? And don't say no straightaway, consider the past two years. Have you taken any drugs, medication, potions, charms, or any other tools that would change how you would normally behave?"

"Apart from the medication that I was given when I was released from St. Mungo's, none of the above."

"Well that's good to hear. Have you had hallucinations about any part of the War, be it people, events, or battles?"

"I've had very realistic dreams, but nothing that kept going when I woke up."

"You said before that you wouldn't consider dating Mr. Weasley. Do you still keep in contact with him?"

"I see him every week I go to the Weasley family dinner and I don't think I've consciously gone out of my way to avoid him, but I don't see him as much as I thought I would when we finished school. Then again I'd thought we might've given a relationship a chance by then but…"

"You've both changed?"

"Exactly. And it's not like he's been free, he's been an Auror for the past two years, although he retired from that three weeks ago."

"What's he doing now? Or do you consider it to be private?" Jenny shouldn't have asked, but she was curious. And knowing if he was even in the country would help her to help Hermione, so she indulged herself.

"He's working at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes which I don't think could've been kept quiet. His brother George is really struggling without his twin."

"Fred died in the War, didn't he?" Jenny asked quietly.

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione studied her hands again. The world was truly a different place without the fantastic duo of the twins. While WWW was still a thriving business, especially after the War, George hadn't been able to come up with many new ideas for the shop. Granted, his repertoire of jokes and gags was large enough from brainstorming before everything had changed, but the list was dwindling to a few ideas that were impossible to invent or carry out. Ron joining the WWW team was a godsend as Mrs. Weasley commented last week, much to the absolute shock of everyone. But for now, it was still obvious that something was amiss in the shop, there was a lack of spontaneous flair. It pained Hermione to remember the time she visited around four months ago with Ginny, but she hoped Ron would help George out of his inventor's block.

Jenny could tell Hermione wasn't ready to talk about such things, so she tactfully moved on instead of pushing the subject. She truly wanted Hermione to return next week. "And Mr. Potter? Do you keep in contact with him?"

"Same boat as Ron, really. Harry's well on his way to becoming one of the top Auror's from what I hear from Ginny, his girlfriend. He also has a godson that was orphaned during the War, so he spends a lot of his free time with him too. He still manages to make it to family dinners occasionally so I see him there."

"And you're still close to the rest of the Weasley family?"

"As close as I was before, but Mrs. Weasley has become a surrogate mum of sorts. She's always treated me well, especially coming from a Muggle background and when my own parents can't help me. Nowadays I feel like I talk to her more than my own mother, which is probably true to be honest with you, Jenny."

Hermione wasn't happy with that revelation, but it was true. After the War and all the craziness of the 48 hours after, she headed for Australia to find her parents. Cleverly used charms that thankfully hadn't expired helped greatly in her search, and after four days she had found them and fixed their memories. They decided not to return to Britain though, enjoying the sunshine and laid-back culture of the land down under and reluctance to pack up their business yet again and move back home, so Hermione had only been to visit a handful of times. Phone calls were exchanged every fortnight and Hermione cherished them, but she didn't miss them as much as she used to.  _Must be a side effect of getting older_  she mused.

"This next one might be a bit trickier, so take your time. How do you feel about the world?"

Hermione considered it for a moment. "I wasn't there, but I don't think the world we live in is the same as the one after the first War. None of the Order members believe that Voldemort could possibly ever return and I saw him die, I believe it too. Most of the Death Eaters have been put on trial and are paying their dues, so that's something too. Everything feels safe, like we can move on with our lives, like we  _should_  move on with our lives. But with the way I'm sleeping and my lack of motivation I can hardly hold down a job successfully, I'd be letting my employer down. I feel…stuck."

"It's good that you've got that insight into yourself and can tap into how you feel, but you didn't answer my question as well as I hoped. Do you feel like the world has let you down? Do you feel like it's your fault that not everything went perfectly for the Light side in the War? Do you blame it on a form of higher entity?"

Hermione paused again, trying to come up with a coherent answer. "It's definitely not my fault that things went wrong. It was a War; bad stuff was bound to happen. I tried my hardest, along with everyone else. We won. And we didn't have as much death as the Order expected apparently, and Harry and Ron and most of the other people I care about turned out alright. I'm happy we won, but like I said, I do feel a bit stuck." Hermione let out a whoosh of air. This was harder than she thought it would be.

Jenny finished her notes and looked at her watch. Their hour was almost up and she couldn't tell if Hermione would be ready to hear her diagnosis before she left. "Have you got anything on tonight?"

"Weasley family dinners are always on a Monday, but I can Floo Mrs. Weasley and cancel if you need me to stay?"

"That's alright dear, I have another appointment in a few minutes. I'd rather not give my initial diagnoses and possible treatments when people are busy but if you'd like to know what I've got I'm more than willing to share. You may even be able to discuss some things with Mrs. Weasley."

"Do you think I'd benefit from knowing?"

"It's entirely up to you. Personally, I think delaying it for a week will have you ready to steal my notebook from my office in a few days." That brought out a smile in Hermione much to Jenny's delight. She had correctly pegged her type as anything but patient when it came to knowledge.

"If we have time I think I'd like to know now."

Jenny flicked through her notebook, deciding on key quotes from Hermione to put things into the best perspective as possible. "From what you've told me in both this session and our last, your life has been put on hold since you were about 15. In this time, you've seen things I'm not even sure I'll be able to help you with, although I will dedicate myself to trying as hard as I can for you. You've seen things that belong in history books and your mental state has survived the brute of it. You've told me yourself you don't sleep well some nights, you feel guilt that you're alive and breathing while others who put the same amount of effort in as you have passed in their battles. Your relationships with those you were very close to are fraying, although we can chalk that up to your emerging adulthood as much as we can blame the War. You struggle to think about the people you've known and love pass on, and I can tell you miss your parents being close to you. Your life has halted, you have no job and no steady and permanent routine to stick to. The Ministry and your parents have been funding you financially while you adjust to living instead of surviving. Does this sound correct?"

Hermione nodded, but Jenny could see that her eyes were glassed over with unshed tears. She carried on. "From this information, I believe you are showing not all, but the key symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Are you familiar with this term?" Hermione nodded again, her tears threatening to fall. "I doubt you would benefit from medication, plus I wouldn't prescribe it to you for another month. Is this okay?" Another nod. "Good. I've had too many sob stories who wait for a diagnosis and then try and get their hands on a prescription for the strongest Dreamless Sleep potion St. Mungo's has."

"How long until you think I'd be steady enough to join the workforce?" Hermione asked, ignoring Jenny's thin attempt at humour.

"If you're willing to continue psychological treatment, that is talking sessions and therapy with me, a few months should be enough. If you feel the itch to rush though this though, I do have a suggestion that worked for a few clients of mine and I believe would work for you in particular."

"What is it?" Hermione asked determinedly. She was more than ready to move past all this, and to get out of this office and lie down on her couch in her flat. It had been quite the day.

"I said before that you had seen things that should only be experienced in history books, didn't I?" Jenny could see the cogs turning in her head before she could finish her thought. "Why not try and turn your experience into one?"

Hermione's thoughts were rushing through her mind. Could she do that? Would she be _able_  to do that?

"If I were writing a book I would need serious help. Do you think other people would be willing to share?"

"You could just write your story and be done with it. No one needs to see it if you don't want them too. Think of it as a Pensieve, something you can store your memories in and forget about until you need them again."

Hermione was intrigued by the idea of writing a book instead of notes for herself. She could write it as a textbook, or as a new chapter to a proper history textbook – maybe even  _A History of Magic_. She could ask Harry and Ron for help, as well as Mrs. Weasley and anyone else from the Order that would be willing to aide her. She could write it completely anonymously, leaving her personal thoughts out of the book and going on straight facts.

"We need to wrap up this session unfortunately. I can tell you like that idea though; it would be good for you. It's something that you can do from your own home and not have to worry about your job, and if it becomes too much at times it can always be shelved and returned to later.

"It's a  _wonderful_ idea. In truth, I'm a bit upset I didn't think of it myself, its right down my alley. All the people I can interview and put pieces of history together, I can use it as a true piece of history if I play my cards right, I can help others put their pain into words, stop them from wasting their life the way I've been with mine. There's so many possibilities with this, don't you agree?" Hermione stood to grab her bag as she talked and finally turned to face the therapist, who was looking at her in shock.

"I rarely hear anyone speak that fast who isn't having a nervous breakdown. Are you alright?"

Hermione grinned at that. "This is how I used to be back in my first year at Hogwarts. I feel…refreshed. Excited. That's been rare in my life these past few years. Thank you so much Dr. Reid."

"Not a problem at all, dear. Would you like me to schedule you in for the same time next week, or would you like to think about it first?"

"Same time next week would be lovely if you could fit me in."

"Excellent. I'll see you next week then Miss Granger." Jenny had walked Hermione to the door of her office. "Have a good time at your dinner tonight. And if you're going to ask Mrs. Weasley for help with your book or your notes, be prepared for her to say no. People experienced the War differently to you, she lost a son and her brothers, if I recall correctly. That goes for everyone you ask."

That dampened Hermione's spirits, but she put it in stride. "I'll remember that. Thank you again, Jenny."

Hemione walked out of the office and into the sunshine through the muggle entrance. The weather seemed to be reflecting her mood, and she was grateful for it. Her flat was a few blocks away and she had a few hours to kill before dinner with the Weasley's. She decided to wait until dinner was finished to see how people were feeling and if they'd be receptive to Dr. Reid's idea for a book. She wasn't worried if they said no, though. This was something she could complete on her own.

Hermione made her way home, happier than she'd been in too long.


	2. Writing It Out Loud

Hermione arrived at the Burrow and was instantly greeted by Ginny. The two had always been friends throughout their Hogwarts years, but since the War they had grown closer, Ginny filling the void that Ron and Harry had inadvertently left. She was the first one Hermione contacted when she found her parents, and she was the one that used to stay up with her when sleep was a lot less constant than the present, either coming to her flat or inviting her to the Burrow before she moved in with Harry. Ginny had been a rock for her and always supported the things she worked on, like self-studying for her N.E.W.T levels. Granted, they worked on them together via owl post, but only because Mrs. Weasley begged Ginny to go back to Hogwarts to start her seventh year. They had both passed with flying colours, and now Ginny was travelling the world and reporting on all things Quidditch for the  _Daily Prophet_. Hermione had sometimes taken to rewriting some of Ginny's best work impersonating Rita Skeeter when she couldn't sleep, and Ginny even had a few of the copies framed.

"Merlin, Hermione, Mum's worried sick about you. She thought you weren't coming because you weren't exactly on time. I've been telling her to calm down, but you know how she is…what have  _you_ been up to?" Ginny stared at her friend for a moment, watching her blush slowly creep up her neck. Hermione looked different than usual, and it wasn't just the light layer of makeup changing her appearance. She looked happier than she'd seen her in a long time, it transformed her aura.

"I had my appointment with Dr. Reid today and she gave me a good idea about what to do with my life for now. I'm excited, that's all." Hermione told Ginny as she walked towards the kitchen to greet the rest of the Weasley's. She loved the girl but she didn't want any more questions until she spoke to Mrs. Weasley to get her opinion. And it was true she was late, she spent an abnormally long time on her appearance today (abnormal for Hermione was over 5 minutes), mostly on her makeup. She felt good and she wanted to look good too. Looking in her mirror in her flat she liked her mini transformation, but now she wasn't so sure.

"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley called out from behind the kitchen bench as she took her apron off. She walked around and gave her a hug much to Hermione's surprise, she usually only hugged the older woman on special occasions. Mrs. Weasley let her out of the embrace but held her at arm's length, examining her. "I was worried about you, you're always punctual – unlike  _some_  of us." She glared at Ron, who was sitting at the large dining table next to Harry.

"Oi! I'm not late tonight, am I?"

"Congratulations, Ronald, you've finally achieved what everyone else in this family has. Want a fancy medal?" Ginny quipped as she sat down on Harry's other side.

"That's enough, both of you." Mrs. Weasley admonished as she turned back to Hermione. "How did you go today? You look happier, which is lovely to see."

Hermione felt her blush creep up her neck again as she saw that Mr. Weasley had put his newspaper down and turned to look at her out of the corner of her eye, joining Ron, Ginny, George, Percy and Harry's curious looks. Surprisingly, therapy didn't seem as "taboo" as it did in the muggle world, and those who sought help were barely given a second glance instead of treated like glass. Everyone had known from last week that Hermione had had a visit to a therapist, and they seemed happy enough for her.

"It was good, and I'm really sorry for being late – it went longer than I thought it would and I've barely had time to go home and get changed. Should we start dinner?" She was suddenly desperate to get out of Mrs. Weasley's grasp and to sit down and take a deep breath. Maybe being this nervous about bringing up Dr. Reid's idea for a recollection of events was a sign that she should just pursue it on her own. Mrs. Weasley must've felt her tense up, and let her go while telling her it was silly to be sorry she was late, she was better at being on time than half her children plus her husband. Of course, that led to Ron, George, and Mr. Weasley to chime in that they were on time that night, and Percy to comment that he was never late, and then Ginny to fire off her quick wit at him with the others (save Harry) to join in. Mrs. Weasley winked at her from the end of the table, and she smiled, once again grateful for the motherly figure to take her in and treat her like her own child.

Hermione was understandably distracted for most of dinner, her mind running around in circles about what she would include in her tale, whether she'd write it as a biography (which didn't really appeal to her), as an added chapter of a history book (and hopefully make Bathilda Bagshot's spirit proud), or to dedicate a whole text to both Wars and research the events leading up to things, combining other's account and experiences into one complete timeline of events (which would take longer and be more exhausting, but Merlin it would be rewarding, not to mention a full time job in itself with the amount of travel and study she'd have to do). She made sure she tuned back in whenever she heard her name and would join in whenever expected, and it seemed to work. She thanked Merlin that the night wasn't as hectic as others, such as three weeks ago when Charlie had made it to dinner and Harry and Ginny had announced their engagement.  _That_  was a crazy night.

After Percy spent half of dessert trying to convince Hermione to apply for an opening in the Transportation section in the Ministry and the other half deflecting half hidden insults from his siblings who had heard enough of him, Hermione offered to help Mrs. Weasley with the dishes while everyone else convened in the living room. Since this usually meant that something serious needed to be discussed, she even shepherded Mr. Weasley away from making the evening tea tray. While Hermione summoned the dishes from the table into the sink for Mrs. Weasley to clean, she began to talk.

"So Dr. Reid gave me an initial diagnosis today ."

"Diagnosis? Why on earth would you need a diagnosis? I thought you were going there to get some things off your mind?"

"Well, that's what I thought too, but apparently from all the information I've given her about how I've been spending the past two years, she seems to think I have the key symptoms of PTSD."

"That's…I'm sorry dear, what is that exactly?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, in full-on cases people hallucinate that they're back to the time or place that a traumatic event happened, and their bodies are stuck in fight or flight mode. Sometimes their emotions are heightened or they feel nothing at all; sometimes they suffer from insomnia or really intense nightmares, and some cases have elements of survivors guilt, anxiety, and or depression."

Mrs. Weasley stopped scrubbing dishes and turned to look at her as she spoke, paling with every new symptom. "I didn't realise it had a name…that's a muggle term, isn't it?"

Surely they must have something like this is in the wizarding world? "Yes it is, there's nothing like that here?"

"Well there is, but we usually just call it depression or anxiety…Hermione, you should've told us you were struggling so much, we would've found help for you sooner! Is that how you've been living your life all this time?"

"Mrs. Weasley, Dr. Reid said I'm only showing a few of the key symptoms, not that I'm the medical definition of PTSD. I told her that I still don't sleep well and that I've been feeling guilty that I've survived when other good people didn't, and the fact that I'm not confident to apply for a job yet doesn't help either. But she's good, and I trust her."

"Well, as long as she doesn't try and admit you into St. Mungo's I'm fine with it. It wouldn't be the same without you here every Monday." Mrs. Weasley gave her a smile and went back to the dishes. George walked into the kitchen a moment later and grabbed a glass of water.

"Hermione, you need to get a job at the Ministry."

Hermione looked as shocked as she felt, but her shock was pushed aside by her anger. Who was he, telling her to get a job? Before she could start to put him in his place, he finished his water. "You need to get a job at the Ministry, perform twice as well as you did at school, become Percy's boss, and make it a formal requirement of his job to shut his mouth about the Ministry at home."

Hermione's retort died on her lips, leaving her mouth slightly open while she stared at George. Mrs. Weasley was in the same boat, but recovered quicker than Hermione. "Go back to the living room, George, I'll bring the tea tray in a minute."

"There's no chance of me going back in there. Ginny looks like she's about to hex him and I'm not getting caught in the crossfire. I'm not losing another ear, Mother."

"Then I guess our conversation is finished for now Hermione, unless you'd do me the honour of kicking out my son from the kitchen?"

"Actually, there's one other thing I wanted to talk about, but it's nothing personal so he can hear it."

"'He' is right here."

"'He' can leave whenever he wants." Mrs. Weasley said as she dried the rest of the dishes. George crossed his knee over the other to show he wasn't leaving and threw Hermione a grin. He seemed to be regaining some of his old cheer back with Ron helping him with WWW. It was good to see other people recovering too. He motioned for her to continue with what she was saying.

"Yes, well, Dr. Reid had an idea that might help me with my therapy, but I'm not sure if I should ask people to help me with it or whether or not to do it by myself." Hermione noticed Mrs. Weasley looked politely intrigued as she started boiling some water and summoning teacups from their cupboard. "She asked me if I'd consider writing some notes, or a book of sorts – well, she actually said write my own story of what happened over those years and use it as a Pensieve, but it got me thinking of how many people were affected by everything and some people barely knew what was going on, and I don't have much on in my life like a job or any major responsibilities, and my rent and bills and most other things are being paid for by the Ministry still, so I could use this part of my life to really…oh Merlin, I sound crazy again don't I?" Hermione paused as she looked at Mrs. Weasley and George, who were doing a stunning impression of her 'mouth-slightly-agape' look moments before. "What I really wanted from you was your opinion, Mrs. Weasley. I can't really ask my own parents, the only effect of the War from then was moving halfway across the globe and they loved it. And they don't understand magic or what we've all been through."

Mrs. Weasley recovered quickly yet again. "You know how much I don't like being Mrs. Weasley. Molly is fine." She sighed, finishing the tea tray by adding a packet of biscuits and putting the rubbish in the bin. Hermione could tell she was stalling. "I think that's it's a suitable idea for you, dear. The only issue I have, and I say this with the upmost confidence in you and your work, but you might want to be careful about who you ask. A lot of people are in positions of authority and might not be comfortable speaking out. People like Shacklebolt or Professor McGonagall were on our side, but they might not be in a position to use their time towards something like this. You could always ask, but I doubt they'd help."

Hermione could feel her newfound positivity fade from her soul. She hadn't even thought about asking such high profile people for their take on events (she'd barely had a few hours to think about the logistics of everything anyway), but she tried her hardest not to let Mrs. Wea –  _Molly_ 's warning get her down.

"Truthfully, I hadn't thought that far ahead, but I appreciate the insight. Not to put you on the spot, but would you consider helping me out? At this point I'd just be writing some notes and working out where the holes in my memory and knowledge are, and you'd be a great resource for the first War. If you were willing to contribute, that is."

Molly looked at her for a moment. "I certainly can't promise anything, dear. I've lost a great deal of friends and colleagues and family over these past decades, there's no way I could tell you my story in a great light. But if we went through it slowly, and you're still keen on your idea when you get around to asking me, I'd consider myself honoured to help you."

Hermione smiled at her, her positivity slowly seeping back into her. It wasn't a promise, but considering she hadn't even begun a plan for whatever it was she was about to undertake she could live with that. She thanked Molly and offered to walk the tray into the living room, but Molly declined, saying she wanted to sit down with her husband. As she walked out of the room, she reminded George to clean his cup. He got off his stool and walked to the sink, scrubbing his glass by hand and quite vigorously in Hermione's opinion, especially for something that just had water in it. He seemed to be thinking quite hard about something.

He was quiet for a moment more before he spoke. "Who would you get to give you more details about what it was like at Hogwarts when you were gone?"

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that. "Really, I haven't considered it. Neville would be a good source, he was on the front lines during the school year while he ran the D.A. Your sister, of course, if she was happy to help. I'm a bit hesitant with Luna, I don't want to trigger anything in her from her time at the Malfoy Manor, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know." He looked like he wanted to say more, but Molly called them from the living room. He gestured for her to go first, and she walked in and sat in the free space next to Ron, leaving George to sit next to Percy. He didn't look happy with the arrangement.

"Actually, Mum, I might just head home. It was a long day today, wasn't it brother?" George looked at Ron, who nodded with a mouthful of biscuit. Ginny looked mildly disgusted by the amount of crumbs coming out of his mouth and moved closer to Harry, who put an arm around her while restraining his laughter when he looked over her head to his best friend.

"Are you sure? You can stay here tonight if you're that tired."

"Nah, I've gotta be up early for opening tomorrow because it's Verity's day off." He gave her a kiss on the head and said goodbye to his dad, then said a quick goodbye to the rest of the group before stepping into the flames. Molly looked worried as she watched the flames change back to orange, but there was nothing to be done. "Ronald, you'll look after him, won't you?"

"There's not much I can do, Mum. He's treating me as an equal in the shop because he knows I'll join the Auror force again if I don't like the work, but he doesn't talk about much other than business." Ron reached for the last biscuit but Ginny slapped his hand away and stole it for herself. Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged but laughed the same silent laugh as before.

Hermione watched this exchange with Dr. Reid's voice running through her head, chanting _your relationships with those you were very close to are fraying_  over and over. She felt like she was suffocating, watching the people she used to know back to front be so in touch with each other but not her. She'd transformed into a semi-hermit without even realising, and the constant one-eighty of emotions she'd been through throughout the past few hours seemed to catch up to her in once breath, and she was  _exhausted_.

She stood up from her end of the couch quick enough to surprise Ron, who she was pretty sure had forgotten she was sitting there. She tried not to let it get to her. "I'm going to head home too."

"You've barely touched your tea, dear." Molly said.

"It's just been a really draining day; I'm sorry Molly but I'm about to fall asleep in front of the fire. But thank you for another wonderful dinner, and thank you for your advice."

"Not a problem, dear. And don't be a stranger, either. You know you're welcome here anytime so don't hesitate to ask us for help, right Arthur?"

"Oh, yes, um, right you are there, Molly." Arthur looked at Hermione and smiled. "Always welcome."

"Don't forget about the opening at the Ministry, Hermione. You'd be great for the posi-"

"Oh my god, Percy, seriously, stop. You're killing us with this Ministry talk." Ginny shut Percy up from across the room and received a glare in return.

"I'll think about it, Percy," she said noncommittally. "Cya guys."

Ginny left Harry's arm and gave Hermione a hug. "You're always welcome at our place too; Harry always goes on about how he barely sees you anymore."

"Yeah, Hermione, I've been really busy but I'm hoping to cut back on my hours soon and we can catch up properly then, yeah?"

Hermione gave Harry a genuine smile. "I'd like that. Maybe Ron can join us too if he learns some table manners by then." She rushed to grab some Floo powder and called out her address over Ron's insulted whines.

Her smile was still on her face when she arrived home. It was silly of her that she thought they'd moved on without her, she rationalised to herself. They were all so busy with their jobs and their lives, and Hermione had had more than enough free time to reach out to them a lot more. She resolved to solve that problem in the near future as she scrubbed her face clean on makeup and tied her hair into a loose plait.  _Maybe they'd even help out with the book_  she thought as she changed into her pyjamas, a white tank top and blue and white plaid pyjama pants, putting her wand on her bedside table. She crawled into bed and passed out not long after, thankful that her crazy day was finished and she still felt as good as she did that afternoon.


	3. We Don't Talk About The Past

Hermione's wand woke her up early that morning, the violent vibrations of it against her wooden bedside table sending her into an adrenaline-fueled panic. She grabbed her wand and waved it as she sat up, whispering  _nomen revelare_  as her duvet fell from her body. An airy green substance came out from the tip of her wand, spelling  _George Weasley._  It vibrated in her hand again, and she tucked it into the waistband of her pants and put a dressing robe on. As she walked out of the bedroom into her modest living room she wasn't surprised to see it illuminated with a flickering green light.

"What's going on George? Has something happened?" Hermione addressed George's head in her fireplace as she kneeled to talk to him.

"Can I come through?"

"Is someone hurt? Are your parents okay?"

"No, I just need to talk to you." His voice was a mixture of exhaustion and sadness, and with the threat of an emergency gone her heart had stopped pounding in her chest. She let out a shaky breath.

"I don't appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night, but yes, you can come through." She pushed some flyaway hairs out of her face and moved away from the fireplace. George stepped into her flat as she fell onto the loveseat, and she gestured for him to sit on the worn-out armchair to her left.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, I just need to talk to you. I can't sleep because my mind feels like it's tied to a firework." Hermione could see prominent bags under his eyes that weren't there at dinner, and her heart softened a little. She was still annoyed, but she'd done the same thing to Ginny many times and she could only guess what he was going through.

"What could you possibly need to talk to me about at…2:48 in the morning after talking to me at dinner? Why can't you talk to your parents?" Her words lacked any real conviction, and she watched him ponder in his armchair.

"It's your book."

"My book? You don't think it's a good idea?"

"No, I think it's a good idea. I can't stop bloody thinking about it though. I want to help."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "You're serious? Seriously? Why?"

"So people can see how wrong things went, with our own people and the Ministry and the free reign the Death Eaters had near the end. So if something like this ever happened again, Merlin forbid it, people know that something like it has happened before and we won. So people don't have to spend two years hiding from their reflection because their brother is dead and their own reflection scares you and hurts you every bloody time they see it." George closed his eyes, realising he'd said too much.

Hermione had no idea what to say. Any annoyance she had at being woken up instantly faded as she watched George take deep breaths with his eyes still shut.  _He's hurting as much as me._

"Of course you can help, George. You could have a section on Potterwatch if you wanted." Hermione plucked that from thin air, trying to help him calm himself.

"I was never on Potterwatch, I just helped Lee with some of the technical charms and stole some of dads muggle equipment."

"But you were still a big part of it, and you can use it to describe how the Ministry failed the people and incited unnecessary panic, and you were helping to resist that." Hermione wanted to write all this down, her excitement from the end of her appointment eight hours ago slowly building again. She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and made notes in an uncharacteristically messy scrawl. It was late, she'd write it properly tomorrow.

"Maybe I could do that, or maybe I could ask Lee to do that bit."

"Well if Lee did that, what would you do?"

George pondered that for a moment. "I'd…You'd be doing a lot of the factual side, yeah? Like when stuff happened and why it happened and all that?" Hermione nodded. "Well if you're doing that, I think I'd like to do more of the emotional stuff. I like the idea of all this being like a Pensieve. I need to sort through all this eventually." He gestured to his head at that.

She couldn't exactly understand what he meant, but she chalked that up to being tired. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, you'd pretty much be doing half the work of all this. I'm not even sure what  _I'm_ doing with all this. What if it's too draining for me to get all this out? What if I start to break down when I try and get my thoughts out of my head? There's so much that could go wrong, George."

"So why can't we work it out?" He leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, arms dangling between his legs. "I know you, Hermione; maybe not as well as Ginny and Ron and Harry know you, but if you're anything like the girl that I went to Hogwarts with, I know you won't rest until you find a way to get this book done. You're too passionate not to finish it. And neither will I, if you let me."

Hermione noted the fierce determination in his eyes – he wouldn't be letting this go for a long time. She knew that he was hurting as much as her, probably more than her with his twin being gone, but she was reluctant to let someone else take on half her workload. Everything she said before was true – she  _was_  worried about moving too fast and triggering some response in herself, she  _was_  worried she'd end up draining herself too much and throwing away her work altogether. And George said that she'd be working on the facts and not the emotions, didn't he? That wouldn't work with her therapy, and she told him as much.

"Fine, you do the bits you're comfortable with and I'll take over when you need me to. Problem solved."

"Problem not solved!" she said, exasperated. "What if you're wrong and I can't do this, and it does just end up being a few recollections instead of the colossal job it will turn into, huh? What then? Will you continue with it without me, or will you badger me until I break down in St. Mungo's?"

"I'd do it without you. I'm not letting someone like Rita Skeeter write about my brother's death like it was nothing. I refuse to let that happen. For the past two years I've hidden myself in plain sight, being happy and cheerful and avoiding the topic of Fred like dragonpox. I feel alone, Hermione, alone and empty and  _worthless_ , because I couldn't save him. Maybe if I did something different that night, maybe if I pulled my head out of my ass for just a  _second_  and took all the battling around me seriously, I could've saved him. But I didn't back then and I can't do it now, and I'm tired of thinking of that over and over and over until I distract myself for five minutes, so the only thing I can really do now is honour his memory, and make sure that people know that all of it could've been avoided if the Ministry or the Order or  _anyone_  had listened to Harry properly." With that he hung his head, looking older and defeated as Hermione look at him. There was nothing she could say that would help him right now, and after a moment reached over and held on to his forearm.

"I can't talk to Mum or Dad about all this, they saw enough horror over both the Wars. I haven't even heard Mum talk about Fred since a few weeks after the War, you remember when she called me Fred don't you? The look on her face… I can't bring this up to them. But apparently I can dump all my problem on you without a care in the world." Hermione absently started rubbing her thumb on his arm as she held onto him, as if encouraging him to continue. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm really sorry about all this, 'Mione. I shouldn't have come tonight."

"Yes you should have. I'm glad you did." He looked at her skeptically, the light from the fire dancing on his hair and making him himself look like a fire. "It's not good to bottle everything up, you know that as well as I do."

"Could've done it a bit later in the morning, though."

"Merlin knows I've woken Ginny up enough times to justify someone doing it to me. And if you're serious about not being able to talk to your parents about Fred, you can always talk to me…no matter what the time." She smiled at him and he gave a small smile in return. He stood up with a yawn and fixed the pillow on the armchair before looking at her again.

"I should get going, I wasn't lying to Mum when I said I had an early start."

"You can stay here if you want, I have spare blankets in the cupboard."

"No thanks, you've done too much for me tonight. Should I come over sometime this week and get started?"

"I'll owl you when I'm ready. I want to plan out what I want to do first."

"You can always drop by the shop y'know. Our WonderWitch line is really blowing up."

"I hope you don't mean literally."

"You'll have to come in and see. Besides, if all the kids who went to Hogwarts with you see  _you_  in the shop, little-miss-prefect, it'll skyrocket our sales." George flashed her a grin as she hit him with a throw pillow. She was happy he could smile after a night like tonight.

"George…"

"I don't like that tone, Granger."

"I know I said you can talk to me about anything but…I really don't think your Mum would mind you talking to her about anything. She lost a brother, too."

George's grin faded to a dull, closed lipped smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll think about it, okay? I promise." He headed for the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder off the mantle.

"Goodnight, George."

"Night, 'Mione. Sweet dreams."

"You too" she said quietly as he said his address and walked through the fire. She knew that any attempt to sleep tonight would be a waste of time and effort, she was too wired to shut down for the night.

 _I could rewrite those notes_  she thought as she looked around the room. She cast a quick  _Incendio_  on the fire to brighten the room, and grabbed her pen and paper. As she settled back onto the couch, she knew that George was right – she would stop at nothing until she was finished with the book. By eight o'clock that morning, a small stack of papers filled with flow charts and underlined words were set on the coffee table next to a sleeping, yet content Hermione Granger.


	4. I'm Writing The Future, I'm Leaving A Key

The week had gone by without anything unusual happening, which was a blessing for Hermione. There were no other surprise visits in the dead of night, no new diagnoses in her appointment with Dr. Reid the day before, and no awkward moments at the Weasley dinner last night. Starting from when she woke up Tuesday morning she had been on a roll with ideas for how to set up her recount of the War, how to write it in a way that would help her be anonymous when it was published, who she could get to contribute their thoughts and memories. It was quite exciting for her to be back on track with her life, to have a clear goal and a plan to achieve it, and she had thanked Dr. Reid again the day before for the idea.

The only problem was that Hermione's thoughts were going off on tangents. She didn't try to stop them, because they might end up becoming the pot of gold at the end of her rainbow, but it led to a very messy living room that she was attempting to clean. She had asked George after dinner to send her an owl whenever he knew he'd be free and he had sent one that morning saying he'd be over at 2:30, which left her with 15 minutes to tidy the stray sheets of parchments and papers that littered every available surface. She was hesitant to use magic to make it easy work as many of her ideas were spread across a few (or 10) sheets. She'd have to go into muggle London and buy some file organisers. And maybe some nice notebooks for when she interviewed people. Some high quality muggle pens wouldn't hurt either, it was tedious dipping her quill into ink every few sentences.

She shook herself from her daydreams of stationary with a smile.  _I really am becoming my old self again_. It was a pleasing thought that stayed with her as she made neat piles of notes and drawings on her coffee table.  _Maybe if I fold some paper like a wide envelope they'd stay in their piles…_

The scene that greeted George was as funny as it was scary. The little flat Hermione called home was not nearly as spotless as it was last time he was here in the dead of night. He could tell she had made an effort to sort her mess into something less…messy…but hadn't quite gotten there. There were indeed spaces that were clear of any writings, but they looked like negative spaces to him. She told him she hadn't started last week - had barely thought about it – but her flat looked like what he imagined Harry's nasty muggle family's house looked like when he got all those letters delivered to him. That had been a fun story over a Hogwarts feast many moons ago, and he and George even used the tale as an inspiration for one of their pranks during their Hogwarts days, a charm that would make re-written duplicates of anything it touched. Perfect for those (such as themselves) that didn't get the chance to be motivated by their homework and didn't have anything to hand in. Fred's idea was to cast the charm, grab a random sheet in the chaos, and scribble your name onto that while the professor tried to clear the room. When that failed, the professor would have no choice but to cancel the homework and just tick off everyone who did it. They never got that prank to work somehow.

His attention shifted back into the present and onto Hermione, who was doing some weird folds with a sheet of paper. He would've sat down and watched, but his armchair he sat in last time had paper on the seat, the arms, the top, and even on the floor in front of it. Instead, he watched her finish her folding around a rather large stack of notes and wondered what in Merlin's beard he had gotten himself into. After a few moments, he assumed Hermione was too lost in her own world to register that he had even arrived.

"Earth to Hermione, are you still in there?"

 _That_  made her look up. Then look around the room. Then look back at him with horror in her eyes. He laughed. "You haven't seen my flat above the shop, it's like a bomb's gone off on top of my experiments and tests. No amount of mess is new to me, even if it's new to you. Here." he handed her the cup of coffee he got her on the way to her place after lunch. Well, it wasn't exactly on the way, but he was fifteen minutes early and didn't want to treat her to another surprise visit. He also had to guess what kind of coffee she liked, guessing a basic cappuccino would be a good starting point.

He was amused to watch her hide her flash of longing for the cup, but handed it to her without a word. She took a sip and sighed with pleasure.

"Apart from yesterday's appointment and dinner at your Mum and Dads, I haven't been out of the house all week; I'm starting to feel like a hermit being so holed up. I haven't even gone out for a coffee which is bad enough, but I wake up with memories that need to be written down or ideas about who to talk to or...I hope you know what you're signing up for."

"I was just thinking that myself. Are we including origami in your book?"

Hermione looked around the room as she took another sip of her coffee. A slight blush was starting to appear on her face much to his curiosity. "No, I just got swept away with trying to clean up before you got here, and I was thinking about how everything could be neatly organised into piles so I started to make holders for all the paper and parchment, and then -" she glanced at the mess still surrounding her "– you arrived. I swear it's not usually this bad, I'm setting up a system when you leave."

"A system to tidy things? Can you make one for my house? And the shop? Oh, and maybe my room at the Burrow, I haven't stepped foot in that room for two years and neither has anyone else, the place is a mess. Maybe you can set up a system for when I go a bit mental with my thoughts too, then we can be system sidekicks." He grinned at her glare over her coffee cup.

"Are you mocking me, Mr. Weasley?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ms. Granger. So, apart from folding, what have you been up to today?" he asked as he sat on a patch of carpet behind the coffee table.

"Well, I had my appointment with Dr. Reid yesterday, and she reminded me that I was doing all this work as therapy, so I have to put the things I need to get off my chest in writing. And I was thinking about how much of a pain the Horcruxes were, how much they could make us go crazy at each other and how important they were to destroy, but then I couldn't decide whether to actually put that in, y'know? What if someone else used that idea? I wouldn't be able to do anything if I didn't write anything about them though, so I've made a few dot points and not actually mentioned them by name, but I think that's more out of paranoia than anything else. Other than that, just going over everything and trying to sort it all out. I don't think this is how normal authors write but it's working for me. What have you been up to? Thank you for the coffee, by the way."

"Don't mention it, it was on the way. I've been at the shop since six this morning, Verity's day off and all. That's the worst thing about a joke shop, the mess everything can make by itself after you've cleaned and closed shop for the night. I still love it though, so that's good. Ron's now stuck with all the kids going back to Hogwarts soon, so that should be fun for him today. And the extra help we've hired for this month and next isn't as great as last year so that's a shame. They've got the spirit of the shop down, but they're not exactly, what's the word…"

"Hard-working?"

"Yeah, that'll do. They're busy showing off all the produce, they don't clean until they realise it's nearly their time to knock off. Even caught one using cleaning spells on the Skiving Snackbox display, he was gone after that."

"You fired him? Really?"

"Everyone that comes into the shop knows to use as little magic as possible, there's signs everywhere. Plus, he was given normal cleaning supplies to use. I don't want any stray charms or hexes hitting something that hasn't been tested. What if some poor firsty got a contaminated Snackbox? They've all been tested and they shouldn't have any effect on the product, but I'm always worried in the back of my mind that something will go astray one day and someone will get hurt."

"Wow, George, that's -"

"Paranoia?"

"I was going to say dedication to quality, actually."

"Well you're the first person to say something positive when I share my concerns about things like that. Thanks"

"You're welcome. How is Ron doing there? You're not going to fire him, are you?"

"I'd love to see Mum's face if I tried. He's actually been quite a good fit, good ideas for products. I think they're mainly ideas that he wanted to use against Fred and I but never had the skill to pull everything off. And I feel a bit like my old self when we're experimenting in the workshop, which is nice. Mum's said the same thing about Ron too, surprisingly. I don't think anyone but him and Harry thought being Auror's after the War was the greatest plan for him, but we weren't going to talk him out of it."

"Well there was no way anyone could convince Harry to not to become an Auror, it was his dream in Hogwarts. And wherever Harry would've gone after the War so would Ron. I am glad he's out of that profession though, I'd hate for him to get hurt."

George looked at her as she sipped her coffee.  _Does ickle Ronniekins still have a lady love?_  He watched Hermione's slight blush return to her, heating her whole face this time. "Do I want to know why you're staring at me?" she asked sarcastically.

"You still fancy my brother there, 'Mione?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, George, that was a long time ago. And no, for the record, I do not fancy anyone at the moment. Especially not Ron." Hermione's gaze was hard as her blush died down again. He didn't mean to provoke her, but it was an interesting topic.

" _Especially_  not Ron? What did ickle Ronniekins do to you? Was he such a terrible kisser after all those years?"

"No, actually, he was perfectly fine." Hermione drained her coffee as George pretended to gag. "You're the one who asked, not me."

"You didn't answer my question though."

George watched Hermione play with the rim of her empty cup as she thought of an answer. "Dr. Reid asked me why I wasn't with him either. I said because too much time had passed between us and it would be weird. But I don't think that's it, I just hadn't considered it before. I think that the War didn't change his as much as me, not that it didn't change him at all or anything, but he still seems pretty carefree these days, happy to just do whatever and move on with his life. And I'm a bit envious, I'll admit it. I've been stuck in a rut for two years while I try and figure myself out. I certainly didn't see myself becoming this way, but here I am. So to answer your question, Ron is still great, but he's just not what I'm looking for."

"Well, what are you looking for?"

"Truthfully? Someone that doesn't know much about me, someone who doesn't know every single detail about my past."

"Someone that doesn't know much about  _the_ Hermione Granger? That's gonna make your dating pool look like a puddle."

She groaned. "Don't I know it. But maybe after all this writing stuff is done I can actually think of scoring a date. If it works as it's intended, of course. I don't want this to be the catalyst for me to jump off the deep end so to speak. What about you?"

"I think I'll be fine after all this."

Hermione glared at him again. "You know what I mean."

"I'm not seeing anyone right now; I've been too busy with the shop. Now that Ron's there to help and Verity is a reliable employee, maybe I can afford to take some time off and find a lady love of my own." He kept it brief and prayed that she wouldn't ask any more questions. It was hard to think of getting married and having children when Fred wasn't around to wingman for him. Not that he'd ever had a problem with the ladies, it was just more fun when he didn't sweep them off their feet.

"Well you'll have no problems finding a nice woman. You've got your own business, your own place, and you're great at inventing."

"What about my looks?"

"I guess we can find time to work on that."

"Wow, Hermione, just wow. My mother thinks I'm very handsome, just so you know."

That got her to laugh. It was a laugh he could appreciate, a laugh that was short and loud and genuine. He hadn't heard it much before, but he hadn't been that close to her either.

_Maybe I could get closer to her._

_Calm down there, mate._

He hastily tried to think of a new subject; he didn't want to think about that one for much longer. "So where do you want me to start with all this? What work shall your monkey perform?"

Hermione smiled at him absently as she looked around her mess of ideas. "We could clean up some space for you to sit? Again, I'm really sorry this isn't clean."

"There's no weird smells or burns on the carpets and walls. I'd kill for my place to look like this. Stop apologising, too. You know I don't care."

"Yes, well…could you help me clean anyway? You can have a flick through everything and figure out what I'm up to. I'd tell you all myself but I think I'd forget half of what I've done anyway. I can put them in these." She held up a few of the folded things she'd made.

"Sounds like a plan, magic man." George could've hit himself.  _Sounds like a plan, magic man? What are you, a twelve-year-old playing the field? Get a grip, ya git._

They spent nearly an hour sorting everything into piles, with most of the time taken up by George reading through her notes and making comments. He didn't worry about hurting Hermione's feelings when he said something was a bad idea (not that that was a regular occurrence), she seemed to enjoy having someone supporting her. And he was happy to go through it all, too. It reminded him of things he'd completely forgotten about, things he couldn't afford to forget if he was serious about helping out.

"Could you please pass me that stack on top of your chair before it falls?" He instantly rose from his spot on the floor where he'd been reading and grabbed the parchments. He scanned the first page before handing it to her, but it was mostly blank save for a few questions and a title of  _SLUGHORN_. The next few things he handed her from the arm of the chair were similar, a few questions but different names. The parchment with  _SHACKLEBOLT_  had the most questions, but a lot were crossed out neatly. As he was passing them, Hermione was putting them all in one of her funny envelope fold things with the title  _PEOPLE QUESTIONS_  written across it. He picked up the last thing on the couch, a piece of paper on the couch that was full of writing, but no name at the top of it.

"Where do you want this one?" He held it up so she could see it. She took it from his hand rather quickly and began to read over it. He couldn't read her face anymore, and it worried him.  _Was that her notes about the Horcruxes? Why wasn't it in note form like the rest of them?_

"This…" Hermione said, snapping herself out of her stupor, "this is my preface to the book. To remind myself why I'm going to all this trouble. I don't know whether to include it or not. It might be a bit personal, and quite frankly, it's definitely not my best writing. But I think it's a good way for people to see that the War was something real, something tangible, especially for those born after the War and didn't have to live through it." Her voice had gone quiet, nearly a whisper, and all he wanted to do was hug her to squeeze the sadness away. They'd had a good afternoon, he'd been here for nearly two hours where'd they'd sat and talked. He didn't want it to end.

"Do you want to read it? You don't have to, I might rewrite it so it sounds coherent. Yeah, I'll do that."

"Let me see it, Hermione." She looked at him as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I can help you get on the track to coherency." The joke didn't make her laugh, but she did hand him the paper. He sat on the empty armchair and began to read.

_This recount of events is to be used as a key of sorts, to be used as a memory of the dark times so many of us have had to face, so that we can place our sadness and anguish into the text and let it rot there instead of our minds._

_So many of us are coping by simply locking away the terrible memories so we can focus on the future and moving forward, but in time this will lead to the tale of defeating evil being forgotten by future generations._

_So think of this as the key to remembering what happened and the mistakes we all made that led to such destruction and devastation._

_Think of this as a key to reminding ourselves of what we've done for this world, all that we've sacrificed to be here today and to love thy neighbor in these beautiful times of peace._

_Think of this as a key to moving on for some of us, to move into the Light and step away from our dark pasts._

_Think of this as a key to remembering those we lost along the way, and those who have lost futures with their husbands and wives, their brothers and sisters, their mothers and fathers, their sons and their daughters. Those who have lost their own futures and paths, too._

_Think of this as a key to rebuilding and finding joy again with each passing anniversary of the dark times._

_Most importantly, think of this as a key to remembering what we have overcome together and hopefully, what we never be forced to overcome again._

George put the sheet on his lap without looking at her. He didn't want her to know he was on the verge of tears, that the words she had put down so elegantly were the exact reason why he'd barged into her home in the dead of night begging for a chance to have a part in the writing process. It hurt him to think of how much Hermione had to do during the War just to make sure there was a chance that her and her friends could survive. It hurt to remember everything he was involved in, too; the memories that he had been trying to block out for years being released with just a few written words. But she was right, it wasn't healthy to lock it all up. Hopefully this really could be used as therapy for him too. Merlin knows he needed some help.

"George?" Her voice was the same whisper as before, and he felt the tears roll down his face before he could wipe them away. She sat on the armrest beside him, her hand placed delicately on his back. "Do you think I should change it?"

"Don't change a word of it, Hermione, not a single word." Thankfully his voice didn't sound as bad as he looked. "It's all true. We sacrificed so much, and we won. But this is the price of winning, isn't it." He gestured to the paper in his lap. "We gave up so much to be here today, to make sure others could be here today. You've put that into words so nicely, maybe I shouldn't be helping with this. You're much more elegant than I am."

"Don't be silly George. I'm relying on your help now." Hermione's voice wasn't as strong as his, and he looked up to see her with tears in her eyes as well. "If you seriously don't want to be a part of this anymore, I completely understand. This is going to bring up a lot of hurt."

"I understood that hours before I barged in here the other night. But I need the hurt, I need to get everything out so I can heal in a world that's moving on, a world that's happy. I want to be happy." His voice cracked a bit then, and he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. Hermione stood up and grabbed a tissue box from the mantle of the fireplace. He wiped his eyes again. "You'll forgive me if I write the rough drafts and get you to make everything sound so nice, won't you?"

She smiled a watery smile at that. "Of course I will, if you promise not to tell everyone about my waterworks over dinner next week."

"I won't if you don't for me."

"Promise." She held out a pinky finger to him and he let out a small chuckle.

"Promise." They only held their fingers together for a moment, but it was long enough for him to know that they were going to heal, and they were going to heal together.


	5. Something Won't Always Be Missing, We Won't Always Feel Empty

Their routine could only be described as "shaky". Some weeks found George over every night, and others he only popped in for an hour. It didn't deter her though, as the weeks went by her draft began to narrow down and hone in on the things she believed were the most important to publish to the world. She didn't forget that it was supposed to be therapy either, so she moved things that she considered too private for sharing into her bedside table. They were originally out in the open, but her heart raced when she considered George accidentally reading over her private recollections, especially the ones centred around the months of camping. Some things didn't have to be shared.

She was a bit taken aback by how much she savoured the afternoons George came over if she was honest with herself. They had been friendly at school, but had never really gone out of their way to catch up or anything like that. Most of the time she'd seen the twins there was when they were either teasing Ron or testing products on first years. After their Hogwarts days the only times they saw each other were at Weasley dinners, but never made the time to speak to each other alone. She regretted it after a few of his visits - he was rather good company. Some nights were spent in reasonable silence, only breaking the spell to confirm dates or check grammar; other nights were spent holding quills without ever dipping them in ink, spending hours talking and gossiping and just  _being_ , somehow avoiding uncomfortable topics with ease and sharing laughs until it got dark and George decided it was time to go. She always asked if he was sure he wanted to leave – first out of common courtesy, but now out of slight selfishness. She didn't want the nights to end, to be stuck in a tiny flat that seemed hollow once his personality had left through the fireplace.

That was another thing, his personality. The light, carefree attitude to everything he and Fred almost radiated before the Final Battle seemed to be returning to him bit by bit every week. She doubted he could ever be the same person he was before, but his shine came back every once in a while, when he told her of a new theory or idea for an item in the shop (that she had to swear up and down not to tell to anyone else), or when he recalled something that happened at Hogwarts. It was always mentions of "we" or "I" though, he never outright said Fred's name in stories like these. She tried her best to ignore it, but she did worry about him from time to time.

 _One day we'll talk about it_ she assumed. But there was no need to pressure him, he'd get there in his own time. She reasoned that he might not be comfortable enough with her yet, that the tentative friendship they'd started to build might even fall apart when things became much more real. She knew she'd never sun from something like that, though. They all had scars that needed to heal.

He came over that night looking like he was ready to burst. He didn't even greet her before starting his story, instead projecting his voice around the apartment until she joined him in the living room and reminded him that she had neighbours. He plopped down into his armchair and began to recite his day at work with wild hand gestures, grinning as he went into extreme detail of Ron's collision with a shelf full of products that he threatened to dock his pay for. While seeing him so pleased with the day's events even though it cost him Merlin knows how many galleons to replace the stock made her happy, she guessed she didn't laugh as much as he expected and he frowned as he looked at her.

"You alright there?"

"Yes, I just hope Ron's okay."

"You hope Ron's okay? What about my bloody shop!"

"Language!"

"Sorry, Mum."

She gave him a half-hearted glare. "Your shop can be fixed with a few spells and you know it."

"Well, technically, so can Ron."

"Not his pride, though."

"You don't think it was funny?"

"Well, yes, I guess it was, but…"

"But what?"

"I mean, it does sounds funny, but Ron doesn't need to be taunted."

"Doesn't need to be…  _taunted?_ " He shot an incredulous look at her.

"Well it's not like he doesn't have any self-worth issues going on, is it?" she shot back.

" _Taunted_  though? I didn't taunt him, I just laughed when I saw him ass up inside the display box!"

"Yes, in front of a full shop!"

"That's what makes it funnier!"

"George!" she cried as she watched him bite back a grin at the memory.

"Yeah, well, Fred would've found it funny" he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, well, Fred would've gotten the same lecture" she muttered back.

She instantly realized it was the wrong thing to say. His sudden silence seemed to radiate even more than his happiness, but instead of filling her room it seemed to be cast straight at her. It was incredibly rare for anyone to bring up anything that remotely eluded to the fact that Fred was no longer with them. George's memories about Hogwarts could be dug up after a few shots of Firewhisky after the Weasley dinner, the alcohol providing a barrier for him to forget his brother wasn't sitting there to finish his sentences. Anything without the alcohol usually ended in the situation she found herself in at the moment.

 _But that's not true_  a voice in the back of her head told her.  _He talked about Fred when he asked to help you with the book._

She ignored that voice. He had only talked about him because he was practically drunk with exhaustion that night. Since then they'd barely mentioned him. That voice was going to get her into trouble if she listened to it.

"Earth to Hermione" he said quietly, snapping her out of her thoughts. Had he said something?

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I didn't say anything, you just zoned out."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just…" She hated that she could feel the heat on her face as she flustered but she couldn't come up with a good excuse.

"It's fine." he said, dismissing her train of thought. "Should we get started? I even did some work at home, just on the fly stuff so don't get too excited."

He busied himself as she watched him retrieve stacks of parchment and quills from her bookshelf. He didn't bother to ask for anything anymore, he just got whatever he needed when he arrived and got to work. It was homely, she decided. Like having a roommate. She'd probably need one once the Ministry stopped paying for her flat. Her mind started to wander as she imagined George coming home after a day at the shop, smelling of gunpowder and all sorts of magic and joining her for dinner at her dining table that could barely accommodate her. She wouldn't be alone anymore.

Her small smile gave way to a frown as reality caught up with her.  _He has his flat above his shop, remember? Why would he move out when he's so close to the thing he loves? Why would he even want to move in with you?_ She gathered up her own parchments and quills and tried to squash those thoughts. It was a nice daydream but it would be best not to dwell on something so impossible when there were more important things to be doing. With a gentle sigh she began to read over her notes about the Triwizard's tournament. She figured she'd try and get as much done as she could without asking for Harry's help as it was still a touchy subject for him. She even debated with herself weeks ago if she should include it, but it was such a pivotal moment for them all those years ago, the realization that barely anyone would listen to a bunch of kids, especially the government. It was lucky they had the Order, otherwise –

"I might go."

"Huh? Why?" She looked over at George who was already packing away his things. Every move he made seemed sluggish, as if he'd been hit with an exhaustion hex and his earlier excitement long gone.

"I'm not feeling it tonight, that's all. Can I come back tomorrow night? I'll bring dinner as an apology."

Her mind betrayed her with a flashback to her earlier thoughts and she could feel the slight heat in her cheeks. "If this is about before…"

"No, it's not, I swear on my magic, it's just been a bit draining – like you said it would be, yeah? I think I just need to take a break for tonight and not think about everything." He sighed as he stood to put his parchments back on their shelf, and an image of her standing up and hugging him from behind popped into her mind without warning.  _What is going on with me?_

"We can take a break for a week or so if you want, it's not like we have deadlines or anything. It's up to us, we make our own pace."

"I guess you're right. I'm still coming over tomorrow night though; would you prefer takeout or me to cook?"

"You cook?"

"I'm appalled by your surprise, Miss Granger. I'll have you know that when I put my mind to it I make a fantastic chef. I can even limit the food poisoning to a single side dish if I'm particularly determined. If you wanted to keep writing tomorrow night I might have to suggest takeout as I can't promise any miracles with my cooking."

Her stomach seemed to flop at his grin, the same way it used to at Ron's.

_Wait…what?_

"You can't come over tomorrow" she stammered, her heart beating furiously in her chest. What the hell was going on?

George looked at her curiously. "I  _was_  exaggerating, Hermione. I can cook just fine. Or I'll shout us a dinner pack from the chippy on the muggle side of Diagon alley Ron and I go to sometimes."

"No, no it's not that, it's, um," her mind raced as she tried to delay him suitable until she figured out what was going on in her mind before she had a panic attack.  _If you keep stalling like this he's going to work out you fancy him. Think, Hermione, think!_

"It's Monday!" she blurted out after what seemed like a decade.

"It's Sunday, Hermione. Have you lost the plot? Are you feeling okay?" He stepped towards her from the bookshelf and she sank further into her seat unconsciously. He noticed and took a small step back with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean, it's Monday tomorrow. What would your mum think if we missed your family dinner to cook for me?"

George paled slightly at the thought. "She'd probably either chuck a fit, or…"

She couldn't stop herself. "Or what?"

His blush spread across his cheeks the same way hers did. "I don't know. Something bad. What about Tuesday night?" He patted the pockets of his jeans to make sure everything was there the way men do when they're ready to leave.

"We'll work it out tomorrow night, okay?" She stood up from her seat and instantly regretted it. They weren't the type of people who hugged every time one of them left, they barely had any physical contact.

"Until tomorrow night then, unless you want to come by the store tomorrow. You can pick up a fresh batch of the Beguiling Bubbles Verity and I were working on today if you want – I'm sure your secret stash is running out."

A light clicked in her head.  _That's_  why she was acting so strange, he must've been covered in the potion! It cheered her up considerably to know she wasn't going mental, and she laughed as his joke. As if she'd have a secret stash of love potions; who would she even use them on?

_Could just use his own potion against him._

Her relief even allowed her to smile at her wandering thoughts, and the smile seemed to transfer to him. "Cya tomorrow, Miss Granger."

"Bye, Mr Weasley."

He floo'd out of her home with a final wave behind him. She looked around at all the work she hadn't started and decided to put it away for the night, instead opting for a romance book she'd picked up at Flourish and Blotts the other week. She'd been content in her life up until this point, but when had she been  _happy_? And why ruin it by reflecting on the past?

Whether it was the trace effects of the potion or the stupidly fluffy romance book, her good mood continued into the night, as well as thoughts of cooking with a certain redhead.

She awoke to the increasingly familiar vibration of her wand on her bedside table. She checked her assumption of who could possibly be floo-ing her so early in the morning with a sleepy  _nomen revelare_  and put her nightgown on. She sighed as  _George Weasley_  appeared in front of her in wispy green smoke yet again.

"I should just ask you to move in if you're going to keep using up all your Floo powder in late night calls, George" she called out as she walked to her living room. "It might save me a few hours of sleep every few weeks."

"S'okay, Mione. Can just stay up  _all night_  with me, drink _ing_  and hid _ing._ " The green fire washing his face out through the flames made it difficult for her to tell what state he was in, but she assumed he was well past the stage of simply 'drunk'.

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. "Are you going to come through?"

She barely had to wait before he stepped –  _fell_  – through into her flat. He righted himself and laughed. "I'm baaack" he sang to himself.

"George, what's going on?"

"I've been drink _ing_ , my love, drink _ing_  merrily all night long. Have ya got any more?"

"You don't need anymore, George, you need to sleep."

"But I'can _not_  sleep, it's too  _sad_. And I'm not a  _sad_  person, I'm a  _happy_  person. Happy, happy, happy, that's me, me, me."

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough to not…be… _sad_."

She fell into the couch, her good mood from before forgotten with this new side of George. "Why are you sad?"

"B'cus, my love, I looked in mirror."

For a strange moment she thought he meant the Mirror of Erised that Harry had told her about all those years ago and she wondered how he got it into a joke shop. "Did you and Ron invent a new mirror."

"Silly 'Mione, silly, silly, silly. My lovely, silly, 'Mione."

"George…" she warned. She hated that name but tried to ignore it. He'd left early last night, but they'd ended on a good note. Why was he drinking? Was it a common practice for him, to drink himself under the table? She had absolutely no idea.

"It wasn't a  _prank_  mirror, it was  _my_  mirror. The one I don't look in. And guess what? Guess what? I  _looked_  in it. Silly Gred…silly Forge."

Hermione sat quietly while she thought. His hair was longer than it had been when the War ended, even longer than it had been at school and was always either tied up or tucked behind his ear. His robes were still shockingly bright, but they were different colours than what they used to be. He always sat with his left side facing the family at dinner, the side without an ear.

She had grieved after the War for all they had lost, that much she had written it down and shared it with him. But the constant reminder of someone that was gone? That wasn't something she'd considered in-depth before. No wonder he was trying to look different if every reflection ended up with him being a drunken mess. She patted the space next to her to get him off his swaying feet, but he shook his head.

"I have to go, M'Mione, haha, my Mione. Can't sit, got to go, go, go."

"You're completely and utterly wasted, George; where could you possibly be going?"

He started swinging his arms by his side, and she noticed he was holding some folded parchment. He still wasn't answering her question.

"George, come and sit down while I put on a pot of coffee. It will help sober you up before you go through the Floo network again. I won't be able to find you if you mispronounce your location, especially at…" she glanced around to her clock "…3:20 in the morning."

"How hard is't to say t'Burron?"

"What?"

"The… _Burrow_ , silly 'Mione."

"You couldn't even say it! Why do you need to go to the Burrow, anyway?"

"B'cus, I need m'Mum." His faux cheery drunkenness popped like a bubble. He stood in the middle of the room looking defeated.

"You need your mum?

"Mhmm." He avoided eye contact with her as he nodded.

"She's not expecting you, is she?"

"Nah…"

Her heart felt like it was developing fracture lines as she watched him stand dejectedly in her living room. The man from today, was he a fake? Was this the real George now, hiding his feelings because everyone expected him to be happy?

She stood up and walked to the mantle, grabbing a handful of Floo power as she reached for his hand. He looked at it, confused.

"I'll come with you, I want to make sure you get there safely."

"I'll be  _fine_ , my 'Mione,  _fine_." He continued staring at her outstretched hand as he swayed slightly, ignoring her gaze.

"Well, it's either you Floo there by yourself and I follow you straightaway, or we do it together. Your call."

He gave her an exaggerated sigh as he grabbed her hand. "You'll leave after though, wontcha? Shoulda let you sleep, I keep wakin' y'up."

"You know I don't mind, George," she said quietly, looking at their joined hands. "You're helping me with the book and I help you talk. We help each other."

She didn't notice he'd finally tried to meet her eyes, nor did she feel him moving towards her until she was swept up in a huge hug. It was an awkward position with them holding hands and her trying not to drop the Floo powder, but she could feel his thanks through the gentle squeeze of his arms. The lingering scent of the love potion had been long replaced by the overwhelming fumes of Firewhisky, but she didn't mind. He needed this, and she enjoyed feeling small for once, small and fragile against his tall frame.

He released her from the hug but still held her hand. "You ready?"

She nodded as she threw the powder into the fireplace, calling out "The Burrow" clearly. The dying fire gave them a sliver of light, and the room was empty.  _Of course it is_  she thought as she yawned out loud,  _it's nearly 4 o'clock in the morning_.

Hearing her yawn, George grabbed the tin on the mantle and offered the contents to her.

"Are you sure you want me to go?" she asked in a whisper. It was almost surreal to have the Burrow so quiet, and she was hesistant to break the spell. He nodded, and she thought she could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. She took a handful of the offered powder quickly, she knew what it was like to cry in front of people you didn't want to see you crying. She turned towards the fireplace and raised her hand to throw it in, but hesitated. Without thinking, she turned around and stood on tip-toe to reach his cheek, kissing it gently. His eyes, now with tears falling form them, met hers, and he handed her the parchment he'd been holding the whole time to her.

"For the book." He choked out, and she nodded wordlessly. She didn't turn back this time, but called out her address and stepped through the fire back to her empty flat. With a sense of déjà vu, she fell back into the middle of her loveseat, sitting for a few minutes thinking of everything that had happened that night and nothing at all at the same time.

Eventually she opened her fist and unfolded the parchment George had given her. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep that night without reading it. She could see the change in size and tidiness of the writing in the firelight and realized he must've written the note tonight as he drank. Some of the parchment had stains on it, but she couldn't tell if they were tears or Firewhisky. She took a deep breath and began to read.

_Watching the news that we won the War spread over the castle that night is the most bittersweet memory I have. I can remember clear as day, yelling to my brother Percy "We won! We won! We –" and turning towards where my twin should've been - by my side, where he should've been celebrating with me – and feeling the breath knocked out of me, not being able to stop myself from reliving the moment he fell to the ground with a smile frozen on his face for the rest of time. I fell to the ground too, as everyone cheered what I cheered a moment ago, that we had won. And we had won the War, but I lost the battle. I lost my brother, my best friend, my other half, my soul. People around me had lost too, but they hadn't lost the person they'd been with even before they were born, their partner in crime and in business and in school and in life and in everything. They were stuck with photos and memories of the people they lost, I'm stuck inside the body that is exactly the same, except for an ears difference. My mirror haunts me as I get ready in the morning and as I scrub my face at night. People inside buildings laugh at the prankster who looks shocked every time he passes a window and forgetting to focus on anything but the reflection. I have to look in the mirror from the side that doesn't have an ear, to make sure that even I can tell the difference between who is in the mirror. This War killed everything but my pulse, and I feel isolated and alone. I want him back, and I want to be happy again._

She felt the fracture lines shatter her heart as she read the passage. She couldn't help but read it in his anguished and broken voice from before, to remember the tears that had managed to escape before she left. She felt horrible when she remembered how he left earlier in the day and how it seemed like a lifetime ago as she sat in near darkness. Did she cause him to drink like this tonight? Was helping her with the book the catalyst for his breakdown? Thoughts whirled around her mind as her own tears began to fall. She tossed the crumpled parchment onto her coffee table as if it was cursed and curled up into a ball on the couch, trying to stop herself from crying out. She didn't mean to do this, to cause such heartbreak. The rational part of her brain tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault, it was Voldemort and the Death Eaters who had done this, but the emotionally battered side reminded her that she was the reason he had had to face all these thoughts again.

Hermione doesn't make it to her bed that night. Instead, she let her combination of tears and exhaustion lead her to a blissfully dreamless sleep on top of a throw pillow covered in her tears.


	6. So Think Of The Future

Hermione stepped out from the fireplace and into the Burrow the next day with a buggered neck and a heavy heart. She hadn't heard from George all day, but she had tried not to stress over it considering she would see him at dinner. She failed to do that of course, so the rest of the day was spent trying to work her drafts into actual paragraphs. She didn't even have her weekly meeting with Dr. Reid to look forward to, Jenny was out for the week celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary in the Bahamas. At least that was one less person in her life to worry about.

She sighed as she dusted herself off automatically as much as she could without causing herself pain. Molly was scolding someone in the kitchen, and she could hear Ginny's giggle float into the living room. She couldn't place the voice that was arguing back, but Harry's entrance into the room distracted her.

"Hey, Hermione," - he said it loud enough in the doorway so the people in the kitchen would stop bickering - "how are you?"

"I've got a sore neck from sleeping on the couch, but other than that, I'm good. How are you?" She stepped in for a hug as she replied, and she was grateful that he loosened his grip on her with the mention of her neck.

"Never been better." He replied so sincerely that Hermione leaned back to look at him from their embrace. A grin graced his face, but he didn't elaborate. She let him go and hugged Ginny too, although she was trying harder to suppress her smile. She raised her eyebrow at the pair when Ginny went back to Harry's side, but he couldn't say anything without an elbow to the ribs. He shrugged good-naturedly at her as they all walked into the kitchen where Ron and Charlie were snatching slices of raw carrot from Molly's cutting board. She smiled at the boys as she placed the face to the voice, and Ron jumped down from the stool to give her a side hug in greeting. Charlie stayed seated but welcomed her warmly while Molly tutted at him about talking him his mouth full. Percy said hello to her as his mother fussed over her and told her dinner would be served after Arthur apparated in from work in about ten minutes. She offered her Ron's chair and it hit her once again how much more the Weasley clan had become her surrogate family since the War ended. It was painful not having her parents close enough to Floo or apparate to, but the Weasleys had truly relieved her of most of that pain. She fought to hide a smile as she tuned back in to the conversations around her, she didn't want to look crazy before dinner had even started.

"It's bloody terrible there sometimes, especially in the back. Definitely didn't smell this bad at the desk as an Auror, anyway - don't say a word, Ginevra." Ron said as Ginny opened her mouth to retort. She smiled wickedly at him as she turned towards Harry and snogged him quite enthusiastically. It did the job, and Ron walked away from the laughing pair with pink tipped ears.

"You'll never win against her, Ronald." Charlie said as Molly slapped his hand away yet again from the cutting board.

"He doesn't have to snog my sister in front of me, though, does he?" he muttered as the rest of his face turned a light pink. She laughed along with Charlie as he ran a hand through his hair, making a face as he lowered it.

"I swear, I smell worse every damn day I work in that shop. Can't prevent a spill or break no matter what charms are placed, and showering doesn't get rid of all the smells."

"Well, maybe if you showered more than once a week it would." Charlie said cheekily with a wink thrown at her.

"I resent that, brother dearest. I shower twice a day ever since our lovely camping expedition with no running water – hell, barely any water." Ron threw an arm around her when he talked about camping and she smiled up at him. It was ridiculous how tall he had gotten these past few years.

"You forget I work with dragons and they food they eat. Can't even schedule a date after work because it takes an hour of scrubbing to stop smelling like dragon."

"You'd think the ladies would like that." she mused to herself as Charlie laughed.

"Maybe a faint whiff, y'know, to show them how dangerous I am. Mix that with a few well-placed stories and I've got myself a good night!" he directed that last part at Ron, who grinned back at him.

"Maybe," interrupted Molly as she tossed a colourful salad, "just maybe, you shouldn't be focused on getting in their underthings and start focusing on getting in their hearts."

Ginny snorted from across the room as Ron and Charlie groaned at their mother. "That's just… _wrong_ , Mum. Wrong. And if it's grandkids you're after, talk to Bill and Fleur. Or Percy."

All eyes turned to Percy, who was absorbed in the report he was reading at the enlarged dining table. He noticed the silence after a few seconds and looked around the room at everyone. "I don't know what's going on, but the answer is no." he said firmly.

The silence continued for a moment longer before the Weasley children (including Harry) laughed. Something felt off to Hermione though, like a tone was missing from the chorus of laughter. She looked around at the family and the kitchen area when her eyes landed on the Weasley Clock.

"How come George is still working?" she asked as flows of conversation resumed around her. Ron moved his arm from around her shoulders and ran his hand through his shaggy hair.

"George went and blew up a few cauldrons today with his experimenting, so the workroom's a mess. I offered to help clean it up before we came here, but he waved me off and told me to Floo here before Mum got mad at us for being no-shows. Plus, I did a bloody large portion of cleaning the shop today with the amount of kids spilling things everywhere. He's damn paranoid about using magic around his products, but what's the worst that would happen? Anyway, that's why I smelt so bad before, but hopefully you can't tell. Feel like I've got gunpowder stuck up my nose, though." He gave her a goofy smile as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. She rolled her eyes at him but smiled, relieved that he was still coming to dinner. She wanted to make sure he was alright after last night and hoped it wouldn't be awkward between them.

Her eyes drifted to the Clock as George's hand shifted to  _TRAVELLING_ , and her eyes stayed on it for a few moments before she realised it wasn't going to move anytime soon. Maybe he apparated close to the Burrow and wanted to get some fresh air? It made sense to her, she could still faintly smell what Ron was talking about when he had his arm around her and it wouldn't be strange for him to want to clear his airways of the stench. This ran through her head as she tried to push other thoughts that told her he was avoiding her away.

She heard the roar of the fireplace as her eyes flickered over to the Clock again. George was still  _TRAVELLING_  apparently, but Arthur's hand had moved from  _WORK_  to  _TRAVELLING,_ and ticked over to  _HOME_ at the same time the noise from the fireplace died down. He called out a greeting to his family as Ginny walked over to hug him as she usually did while the others waved hello. Hermione joined them half-heartedly as worry crept up on her even faster. She turned towards Molly and opened her mouth to ask how he was last night, but the woman beat her to it and asked everyone to take their seats. She hesitated, watching Molly as she dished up the last few things onto dishes and sent them over to the dinner table.

Molly walked around the kitchen bench and surprised Hermione by squeezing her cheek softly. "He'll be here soon, don't fret." she said to her softly. Hermione opened her mouth in surprise and went to say something (she hadn't worked out what, though) but Molly walked past her with a pat on her shoulder and took her seat next to Arthur. He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek in greeting while everyone else took their seats. Feeling slightly off-put by how Molly could sense her worrying she sat down between Charlie and Ron, rather than on Charlies other side and be right next to the matron of the house.

She jumped a bit as she placed her napkin on her lap as the fireplace roared once again at the same time. Mentally slapping herself, she reached for the potatoes rather than look up at the archway between the two rooms as she desperately wanted to, assuring herself that she could always check in on him after dinner. The fact that she didn't know what happened last night after she Floo'd him to the Burrow really had eaten away at her all day, but she didn't want to ask him at dinner in case no-one else knew he spent the night at his parents.  _You can talk to him after dinner_  she reassured herself. _Just get through dinner, and then you can talk to him. And if he dines and dashes, follow him. You can always talk to Molly too, she knows you're trying to help him. Just make it through dinner._

"Too late, Georgie-boy, I already brought Mum flowers. Romanian, too; you're outta luck."

Charlie's voice snapped her out of her thoughts as she turned towards him, then turned to George. He was standing in the living room still, in fresh clothes and holding a bunch of white roses. He was blushing at Charlies words but muttered something under his breath.

"Speak up, dear, no one can hear you." Molly said from the table. She was trying to hide a smile, Hermione guessed she felt lucky to have two sons that had brought her flowers, especially when one lived so far away.

"I said, they're not for Mum." he said to Charlie. He took a deep breath and caught her eye. "Can we talk outside for a mo'? Won't keep you from dinner too long, I promise."

She looked between him and the roses for a moment before nodding and placing her napkin back on the table. Ron, Ginny, and Harry were looking at the pair curiously as they headed towards the door leading to the backyard, which made her blush the same way George was. Arthur and Percy continued to serve themselves food while Molly chided Charlie for something she couldn't quite catch. She tried to catch George's eye as he held the door open for her to try and work out what was going on, but he was looking at the roses still in his hand to ignore her.

The breeze of the night cooled her blushing cheeks as she stepped forward. She didn't know what he had planned and was starting to worry again, but she tried to calm herself and waited to let him explain. He led her to Arthur's shed of muggle equipment and cast a quick  _scorgify_  on the outside wall before sitting on the grass and leaning on it. He patted the clean space next to him and she sat as well, cursing herself for feeling so on edge.

"Oh, right. These are for you." he said as he handed her the roses delicately.

"Why? I mean, thank you, they smell brilliant, but why?" she asked him quietly.

"For last night. And for the other night a few weeks ago. I shouldn't keep barging into your flat at random hours of the night. It's not fair." He held his hand up to stop her from interrupting. "I know you said you didn't care the first time, but from the snippets I remember from last night, I think I might've scared you a bit. Certainly scared the pants off of Mum last night with my drabbles."

Hermione watched him under the faint flow of the moon and the light shining from the house. He was looking down at his lap, obviously unsure of himself. She felt the same, she didn't know what to say either.

"I'm happy you came to me, I felt better last night knowing you got to your parents safely. But George, I'm worried. This book is really getting to you, maybe unconsciously, but it is. If you need a break from it, you tell me and there's no hard feelings whatsoever. If it doesn't feel like therapy then you stop. If whatever you're working on seems like too much, work on something else, come back to the hard parts when you're ready. That's what I've been doing anyway. That preface was hard for me to write, I cried over it and got mad at myself and left it. But I always came back with fresh eyes, and I could see that what was making me upset were the parts that had to be included. Hey," she reached over and held his hand that had started ripping pieces of grass into squares. He looked at their hands and finally made eye contact with her. "I know what you're going through. I don't know the ins and outs, but I know how hard it is to put onto paper. You can always talk to me, whenever you need to. We help each other, remember?"

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze when she saw the tears forming in his eyes. He looked back down to the grass in front of him but maintained the grip on her hand. She looked down at the patch of grass in front of her too. She didn't know what to say to crying boys, she didn't even know if she should acknowledge it or not. She decided on the latter while they sat in silence, listening to the crickets.

"You were right, y'know." he said eventually. She turned towards him with raised eyebrows. "About talking to Mum." he clarified. "Y'know what you said, about talking to Mum because she's lost her brothers too? I did this morning, and I think it helped. I think she was happy to talk about them too, in a weird sort of way. Seemed happy that I was talking about Fred."

"Did you spend the whole morning here?" she asked automatically. "What about the shop?"

"'This morning' as in 'four-o'clock in the morning'. I opened shop a few hours later than usual but caught the lunch rush. Don't you worry about my finances." he said with a smile. She smiled back and looked down at her flowers. They really did smell lovely, but they were unnecessary. She told him as much and he shook his head.

"Truthfully, they were Mum's idea. I was going to give you store credit for the shop so you could prank me if I ever turned up unannounced again, but I think flowers say sorry better. Well, Mum said roses are the kind of flowers that show someone you appreciate them, but she could be taking the piss, I have no idea."

"They do." she said quietly as she looked at them. "They mean you love someone, you appreciate them, and that you're devoted to them. I guess they could mean you're sorry – not that you yourself have anything to be sorry for – but if you go out of your way to apologise properly to someone it means you love and appreciate them." She suddenly became very self-conscious about their joined hands as she explained quietly. It felt wrong to think about letting go though, so she hoped he wasn't feeling as strange as she did. As odd as she felt, she didn't want him to let go. Maybe the potion that exploded in the shop today was another love potion? That didn't make sense, Ron wouldn't have complained about smelling bad, he'd just smell strongly of what he loved. Maybe George hadn't cleaned himself properly? That was rude to think about George, that he couldn't clean himself decently. Unless it was just natu-

_Oh no._

_Oh no no no._

_I'm not starting to fancy George, am I?_

_Oh. Oh no._

A squeeze of her hand brought her back into the present yet again. Maybe she'd have to talk to Jenny about all this zoning out.

"Well it's all true, I made the right choice." George said. He sounded happy again, like he did before he turned up drunk at her flat.

"What's true?" she said in a daze. She hoped he couldn't feel her pulse with his hand, it was racing a mile a minute. And who's sweat was that making everything a bit slippery? She wanted to die of embarrassment, she was going to make everything so  _weird_  between them, she could feel it.

"That I love and appreciate you. You've done so much for me and I've pretty much thrown it back in your face with the way I storm out and pop back in whenever I fancy."

"Don't say that. You need to stop apologising for something I don't mind. And if you're talking about last night, you didn't storm out. You left because you needed a break, you needed time. It's bound to happen." Her heartbeat slowed slightly with those words. This was territory she could handle, she could get past this.

"I still feel bad, though."

It was her turn to give him a reassuring squeeze. "Forgive and forget, yeah?"

He brightened with that and agreed with her. He let go of her hand then and she tried to wipe it discreetly. She was pretty sure it was her own sweat, but he laughed as he scratched behind his ear. "Sorry about that, I've got clammy hands. Always impresses birds, that does."

She laughed with him, grateful that her weird moment was truly gone. He stood up and offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her up to him and in a swift motion she could barely detect, she was trapped in his embrace. He rested his head on top of hers for a moment, and she panicked about her bushy hair much like Lavender and Parvati used to in their dorm. She forced herself to breathe, and she cursed herself again for being in this situation. Thank Merlin they'd had their talk now, she could rush straight home after this and sort out what her emotions were up to.

She almost missed his whispered "thank-you", but there was no way she could've missed the quick kiss he gave to the top of her head. Her body felt like a jolt of electricity had consumed every part of her as it went from her head to her toes. She couldn't stop herself from tensing against the sensation and he pulled back quickly. His slight blush had returned, but he offered her his arm to walk across the yard. She tucked her elbow into the crook of his, and they began to walk back to the house.

"So, one thing I remember quite clearly last night was writing a note. Thing is, I don't remember what happened to it. I gave the Burrow a quick scan before I left for work, but I don't remember having it when I was talking to Mum. Was there a random thing of parchment at your place?" He said in a rush, as if embarrassed by what he'd written.

"You gave me something you wrote when I dropped you off, but other than that, no." she said. She slowed down their pace, as they were near the house again. She thanked Merlin again for the fact that no-one inside could see them as they came to a stop.

"Would that parchment have my ramblings about Fred on it?" he asked her. She was surprised he maintained eye contact, he'd barely looked at her while they were sitting against the shed. She saw his slight smile, as if he thought what he'd gave her were the notes of a crazy man.

"It was, but it was good. Hard to read, I'll admit, but the emotion behind it was good. It's the sort of thing I need to be able to do, to be able to really use this as a chance at therapy and to put it behind me. Move on from the things I can't change."

"You thought it was good?" he asked in disbelief.

"It was realistic. I could tell you were hurting, that you wanted nothing more than to have Fred back and go back to how it was. That's what I mean by good. Fred being gone is one of the worst things that has happened to the wizarding world. The joy you two brought everyone was staggering, it was amazing how he could fill a room with his presence. Not that you can't, but there'll never be another Fred Weasley, y'know? And that's what the book is about, showing people what we've all lost, and using it as hope that it'll never happen again, that no one else will lose anyone they love."

"Why can't more people be like you, Hermione?" he asked her in wonder.

"Like what, exactly?"

"People don't talk about Fred without looking at me and making sure I haven't passed out hearing his name. Hell – sorry, heck – you saw how I was when last night when I  _thought_  I saw him in the mirror. He's like a taboo, no-one can talk about him. He would've hated that, us all avoiding him. He's probably the centre of attention wherever he is."

She smiled up at him. "He would be, wouldn't he? It's up to us then, we need to talk about him, make people remember him positively, not as a loss. Can't lose the people that are still with us, that's what Harry said after all the funerals."

He nudged her side with the elbow holding hers. "That Harry isn't too bad, is he?"

"Good to know you approve of your brother-in-law." she laughed as he grinned down at her in return. They reached the front door when George suddenly stopped walking. She nearly fell at the resistance between their arms, but luckily stopped herself from falling. He pulled her to face him.

"I know you don't drink much, so when you get around to writing the tough bits, I'll be there, okay? Seriously, Floo me or apparate over or send an owl, I don't care. I'll be there as soon as you need me, alright?"

She nodded as she tightened her grip on her flowers, the seriousness of his gaze almost scaring her. "Thank you." she said quietly to his offer.

"Not a problem at all, love. We help each other." he broke his serious look with a genuine smile that looked much better on him. They walked quietly back into the house, and she found herself not wanting to return to the table with everyone. Hopefully Molly said something, she doubted she'd make it out of the house alive if Ginny thought there was something going on between them.

 _Not yet, anyway_.

Mentally hitting herself for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she made a show of rolling her shoulders and head before they stepped into the room. George watched and laughed, but that caught the attention of the table as they walked in with their arms still linked. She physically froze along with her logic of knowing she'd done nothing wrong with George outside. George must've felt her tense up but she didn't dare to look at him – her face would've gone a brighter shade of red than it already was. The silence was bad enough, but did they have to  _look_  at them like that? She looked towards Molly pleading for help.

"There's a lovely vase you can keep those in until you go home, Hermione. Second cupboard on the right, fourth shelf up." She didn't wait to see if Molly had anything else to say, she unlatched her arm and turned, nearly running to the kitchen. The cupboard was far enough around the slight bend of the kitchen that no one could see her, and she let out a loud breath. She needed her cold, hard logic back, the one she used as a shield of sorts during school. She knew there was nothing going on between the two of them – apart from her realisation that she may fancy Ron's older brother – so there was nothing to read into. She could come up with a lie to tell everyone, but she didn't know what they already knew. Besides, there was nothing to lie about. The flowers were an apology, plain and simple.

She sighed again as she reached for the vase and filled it with tap water. She didn't bother unwrapping them from the paper, she could do that when she got home. She rolled her shoulders again and walked back into the room, where conversation had picked up again. It didn't stop when she approached, but it did seem to fade for a moment until Molly cleared her throat. Chatter picked up rather quickly at that, and she moved back to her former seat.

"Wanna swap seats, Hermione? I'd hate to get in the way of ol' Flowerboy over here." Charlie said as he patted George on the back. George swiped a piece of bread from his plate in retaliation and she quickly sat as the two had a mini food fight. Everyone else's plates were half finished, so she served the rest of her meal in a smaller portion than she would've liked to prevent delaying dessert for everyone. Ron looked at her plate with a frown, but she shook her head at him softly, not wanting to bring any more attention to herself.

She focused solely on her food and only talking if she was addressed. It was easier that way, her brain was going haywire with new information to process. There was no doubt he had been covered in love potion the other night, he confirmed it. Most of last night could be blamed on that if it had to be. But tonight; that was different. She enjoyed sitting out there alone with him, even when his whole family knew they were out there alone. She caught herself wishing that he asked her to talk after dinner; they could've spent a lot longer out there. She added that to the list of reasons she thought she may fancy him. She wanted to spend more time with him, she was genuinely upset when he was feeling down, she'd spent the whole day worried about him when she could've Floo'd either him or Molly to see if he was alright. But she avoided that, probably because her unconscious knew what was going on before she did and didn't want to tell her.

Traitor.

George and Ron had the table laughing with a story from work about a girl and her Pygmy Puff that had found itself in a box of fireworks displays. Having caught the end of the story she joined the laughter, and found herself looking at George. Whether she actually fancied him was still to be decided, but it was good to see him laughing after last night's debacle. She hoped that he would be able to talk about Fred with her ( _or with anyone_  she told herself sternly), and that the dark days that everyone at the table had faced would be able to pass soon. She smiled to herself in her laughter, and George caught her eye and winked at her before jumping into another story about a boy no more than seven who tried to replace his mother's wand with a fake one. She controlled herself and resisted the blush that threatened to emerge, quickly looking away to make sure it didn't arise. Unfortunately she caught herself looking at Ginny who raised one eyebrow and looked considerably like her mother. She couldn't fight the blush this time and instead took a large bite of her chicken just to have something to do.

Eventually she made it through dinner and dessert unscathed and was confident enough to sit on the same couch as George when it was time for tea. She could tell Ginny was dying to ask her about what was going on between the two of them but she avoided her gaze. She knew it wasn't the best move, the girl could practically smell her fear and would be chasing her like a lion as soon as she was alone, but it was the only thing she could think to do while they were all sitting around together. She begged her cup of tea to cool enough so she could drink it and escape for the night and set her head on right. Sitting next to George didn't help either, he wasn't close but he was always right on the edge of her consciousness and it was making her feel a little claustrophobic. She knew deep down it wasn't his fault, it was her need to know exactly what was going on that was causing it, and it needed to be assessed immediately.

"Weren't you gonna grab those…sweets…from your room?" said Ron to George, acting for inconspicuous and missing by a foot.

George jumped off the couch quicker than she thought he could and thanked Ron for reminding him as he bounded up the stairs. She looked down at her lap, the security George was provided with each fading footstep. With Molly and Arthur in the kitchen cleaning up and Percy retired to his old room to finish his report, it left the five of them in the living room staring at her. She could feel their eyes as they waited for her to say something.

"What kind of sweets are in his room? Something new?" she asked Ron, banking that he'd be too interested in having a secret to address the hippogriff in the room.

"Yeah, they're called Bou-"

"Why is my brother buying you flowers? Why is he buying you  _roses_? That was a bigger bunch than what we had as the centrepieces on the tables at our wedding!" Ginny said as she cut Ron off. He didn't seem to mind, which was unusual. She may as well have had a blush all night the way her cheeks were heating up and cooling off.

"They were an apology." she said quietly to the group, staring at her hands folded in her lap.

"An apology for what?" asked Harry with a hint of protectiveness in his voice.

"He…he turned up at my flat last night. They're an apology for waking me up."

"A bunch that big isn't for waking someone up. That's a 'I've-messed-up-big-time-please-forgive-me-and-I'll-love-you-forever bunch." said Charlie from his armchair.

"Yeah?" said Ron. "How many birds have you sent those flowers to?"

"Too many." he grinned. "Always works, though, doesn't it?" Everyone turned back to her.

She looked at him defensively. "He had nothing to apologise for. Nothing at all."

"They worked then." he shot back teasingly.

She gave Charlie a solid impression of his mother's 'hmmph' and he laughed. "He hasn't had a steady bird since before the War, has he?" he asked the group. Hermione opened her mouth to protest that she wasn't 'his bird' as he so charmingly put it, but she was waved off.

"No birds that I know of. We even offered him a plus one at our wedding didn't we? He asked if it could be Lee, but he was already invited so he didn't bring anyone. He should've brought someone though, the fireworks display could've charmed the pants off of any girl he fancied." stated Ginny. Harry looked at her in shock at her crassness but she shrugged her shoulders. "You know it's true."

"I mean, I guess, but still, Gin."

"Oh, hush." she said as she held his hand and looked up at him lovingly. Charlie and Ron pretended to gag, but Hermione watched as she brought Harry's hand to her side and bumped it against her. She look away then and nearly wanted to gag herself if it meant what she thought it did. She didn't need to know their secret signals to each other.

"Maybe I should go check on George, he's been up there a while." Ginny said as she let go of Harry's hand.

"Want me to come?" he asked her, but she shook her head with a smile as she too bounded up the stairs. Harry watched after her, and it hit Hermione how lonely it had been over the past few years. It often did when she watched the two of them, but it wasn't their fault. Their wedding had been beautiful and they were perfect for each other, but it did leave a hole in her heart. She always figured she'd find someone eventually and that she didn't need to worry – in Muggle standards she had plenty of time, around 10 years left to hit the average for having a baby at the very least. But it was clear things were different in the wizarding world, people married younger and stayed together longer. What would happen if everyone found someone but her?

"They were pretty big flowers, Hermione." Ron said from the floor as he dunked his biscuit into his tea. "And he looked nervous when he asked you to go outside. I've rarely seen him nervous; I don't think I have, actually. When did he get to your place?"

"Just before four." she said.

"Why was he even awake?" asked Harry.

"That's not for me to share, you'd have to ask him. I don't think he'd want to talk about it, though." she said matter-of-factly.

"You share secrets with my little brother now?" Charlie asked. "Well, a different brother?"

"I don't think it's a secret, but I don't feel comfortable sharing. That's all I'm going to say, too."

Ginny walked back into the room with a secret smile on her face. She looked at Hermione and her smile widened slightly, but she didn't say anything. She was much like the twins in that respect – silence was nowhere near a virtue.

George walked in behind Ginny silently and sat back on the couch. When he eventually looked at Hermione, she was scared shitless, to be honest. He looked haunted and hopeful and terrified at the same time. She turned back to Ginny, whose smile was begging to break out of her face again.

_What the hell happened upstairs?_


	7. Think Of Your Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What the hell happened upstairs?" - Hermione
> 
> George's P.O.V

George jumped off the couch and bounded up the stairs as he yelled a thanks to Ron for reminding him about the Bouncing Biscuits. He could admit to himself that that wasn't the real reason he was thanking him, though. Oh no. He was thanking him for a perfectly good reason to escape the living room, to escape Hermione Granger.

He had brought flowers for girls before, usually lacing them with tiny pranks that were meant to impress more than to  _prank_ , per say, but he had brought flowers before. He'd never gone to a different shop because they didn't have any he deemed suitable before. That was definitely a first for him. He could honestly say he travelled all over Britain for what he presented her with, but he'd Floo'd to the shop his Mum liked in Wales and got the roses. It was the second shop after Stems and Stalks in Diagon Alley, but he didn't have to tell her that.

He made it to his floor quickly and stepped inside his old room. A fresh wave of nostalgia hit him as he looked around his cramped but colourful bedroom. There were so many memories in those walls – quite literally he noted as he saw some blast marks under the desk the two of them shared. The last time he'd been in this room was after the War but before the funeral. He'd collected anything he thought he'd need at the flat from the room because he knew it would be too painful to stay in again, not with everything he owned in that room doubled and belonging to a ghost. Living at the flat about the shop was hard enough, but he could distract himself there without worrying about his mother pottering about to keep an eye on him like he was a child.

He looked around as the memories flowed through him. He could smell the gunpowder that never stopped lingering in their room since they began working on stock for WWW. The desk was covered in scratches and Merlin knows what substances from their experiments that they'd neglected to fix in the moment because they were too busy writing meticulous notes. The poster for Zonko's that they'd always look to when they were feeling defeated by a bump in the experimental road had fallen in one corner, the Spello-tape they'd used to stick it to the wall long past its prime. If he closed his eyes and focused hard enough he knew he'd be able to hear Fred's laugh, almost identical to his but always having an extra sigh at the end. It was one of the ways Lee and Charlie could tell them apart, just make the boys laugh and see which one lasts longer. Not many people knew that trick to tell them apart. No one apart from those three would ever know that now.

He felt his knees give and was thankful he was standing so close to his bed. The springs groaned slightly under his weight the same way they used to, but it was little comfort. Fred used to always make an annoyed sound in his sleep whenever George rolled over, and it was one of the ways he could get back at him if he'd been a prat during the day. The first time he'd deliberately rolled over five times a minute for an hour when he was large enough to put enough pressure on the mattress, Fred had placed a Full Body-Bind Curse on him and didn't free him until the morning. Actually, he remembered with a smile, it had been his dad who had finally freed him; he'd come up because they were running late to some event or another over the holidays. The first thing he'd done when he could move was comment that Fred really needed his beauty sleep to look as good as him, then he had sprinted to the bathroom to relieve himself.

He caught himself smiling at the memory, and he nearly stood up to tell Hermione she was right – he could think about Fred positively and not as a ghost, that the memories didn't have to make him ache and want to scream and hit things. He wanted to tell her that everything seemed so helpless and cold without having something to work towards and that her letting him help with her book was a breath of fresh air after being stuck inside himself for so long. He wanted her to know that he'd had enough, that two years was long enough to be stuck dreaming about his brother miraculously coming back to life and everything going on the way it had before the wall had crushed him. He wanted to thank her for her unlikely companionship and for putting up with him after he had walked out or stumbled back in at all hours in the morning. He wanted to tell her that every single one of those petals on those flowers represented something he wanted to thank her for, but that was too sappy even by his standards. He was buggered if that wasn't how he felt though.

She had been such a great help in such an unexpected way and there was no way in hell that he was going to jeopardies that. She was right in saying the book was taking its toll on him, there was so much he hadn't realized he still had left to process though and sort out for himself. But it was therapy for him, too. Not just the writing, but having someone there he wasn't worried about talking to, someone that he knew wouldn't share his secrets without him having to ask them not to. She was something special, that Hermione Granger, and he blessed his lucky stars that his ickle Ronnikins and Harry had found her all those years ago.

 _If only Fred could see you now_  he thought.  _He'd call you a tosser for sure. Thanking your brother for the girl you fancy? What a dolt. Fred would know what to do. He'd get the Firewhisky out, hand you a shot or three, and take you out on the town. Double Trouble on the prowl. Mischief Makers on the move. How could the birds resist?_

His smile returned at the thought. They'd done that a few times before Bill and Fleur's wedding, before the War became real. It was another set of happy memories between the two of them, but it was starting to hurt to think about him being gone again. His head fell in his hands as he sat on his childhood bed. Why had everything gone so wrong? He knew he should feel lucky, the end of the War could've been a lot worse casualty-wise. He never truly considered Harry losing his battle -always the optimist, George was – but he could've walked away with a lot less family. He might not have walked away at all. But those early days between the battle and the funeral were the worst pain he had ever felt. It had been worse than losing an ear; it had been a constant ache, the feeling of ripping wallpaper from the inside of his skin every time he was painfully reminded he was alone. The day he caught himself trying to hold a conversation with Ginny and only saying half of what he was thinking was the start of his mute period. He hadn't spoken for at least three weeks, terrified that he would leave himself hanging, the twin-speak that once amazed everyone now severed. He'd gotten out of that rut by himself, but he hid everything else behind a sturdy border that couldn't be broken.

Until last night, that was. Or earlier this morning, rather. Everything he'd pent up over the last few years had slipped out, everything he'd held onto in fear someone would notice came rushing out with barely a moment's notice. He was surprised in the morning that the only negative emotion he felt was guilt, if he was being honest with his handsome self. Guilt for waking up his parents and keeping them awake until the sun began shining through the cracks in the curtains. Guilt that he had made his mother cry over her son she'd missed almost as much as he had. Guilt for not talking to her sooner. Guilt for scaring the shite out of his dad before he fell apart.

_He remembered Hermione stepping through the grate and leaving him alone. Alone was all he was these days, he wasn't Fred and George or Gred or Forge, he was alone. A wail left his throat before he could contain it, and he collapsed to his knees. He was sick of it, sick of trying to hold everything together when all he really wanted was to break down again. He didn't want to go through another birthday where he sat alone with a bottle of Firewhisky, and he didn't want to wear the sweater his Mum had knitted him with the big G in the middle. It almost felt wrong, holding it. It was Fred's. George's should've had an F on it, the way it had always been._

_He didn't notice the small beam of light poking around the corner, but he heard his father's voice quite clearly. He stood up quickly, too quickly, trying not to puke from the alcohol. Maybe he should've brought an antidote for the Puking Pastilles. Nope, that was Fred's invention, and here come a fresh wave of tea-_

" _George?" his dad had asked quietly. "What's happened? Is everyone alright?"_

" _It's Fred." he replied simply._

" _Fred?" Arthur said incredulously. "What do you mean?"_

" _Fred." he repeated, as if it were enough to bring his brother back._

_Arthur studied him for a moment. "Have you been drinking?"_

_He nodded, and Arthur sighed as he ran a hand tiredly through his hair. He pointed to a spot on the couch and George heaved himself onto it, pleased that it stopped the world from spinning so much. Arthur walked over and placed a light blanket delicately on his lap. "Sit tight, I'll grab your mother."_

_He rested his head on the very back of the couch. Why had he had so much to drink? He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn't stop himself. It was the first time in a year and a half that he was completely and utterly smashed, and it wasn't agreeing with him. A nightcap or two were required some nights to get him to sleep, to stop the thoughts and the dreams from seeping in, but it was usually enough. Why did he go overboard tonight?_

_He looked down at his now empty hand and scowled. The dim light of the fireplace didn't spread far enough to let him see the floor, and the strain he was putting on his eyes made him queasy all over again. That blasted note, where had he put it? He'd had it at Hermione's…_

_Lovely Hermione. Eenie, meenie, 'mione, Hermione. What a lovely name. What a pretty face. He felt a twinge of shame as he remembered waking her up, but she had looked so lovely, she didn't even need beauty sleep. He should tell her that tomorrow. She would blush so much, he loved making her blush, he swore it made her frizzy hair stand up even more. And she was good at hugging, even though he'd launched himself on her. She just looked like a comfy pillow, one you wouldn't even need to fluff before you lay down and fell asleep. She was –_

" _George?" Molly said in the same quiet voice as Arthur. "Your father tells me you're drunk. What's happened."_

" _Woke 'Mione up." he said matter-of-factly._

" _Why did you do that?" Her tone hadn't changed, and it was starting to annoy him. He wasn't a child anymore, he wasn't afraid of the dark._

"' _Cus I was thinkin' 'bout Fred, and writing 'bout Fred, and I's sad, and she makes me happy. So I went to make me happy."_

_She looked at him from her side of the couch in confusion. "Why weren't you happy?"_

" _BECAUSE HE'S GONE!" he roared, standing up in a rage as the blanket fell off his lap. Why couldn't anyone see? He was officially sick of it, he was done holding himself together. Who gave a flying fuck if he was falling apart? No-one else was, he could just fade into the shadows, fade into the darkness, and be done with it all._

_His head and his stomach didn't agree with the rage, it seemed. The room swam as he threw an arm out, looking for purchase to hold himself on, the other hand coming up to his mouth in a fist to hold in his sick. He didn't need to throw up in front of his mother. Angry tears begun to well up in his eyes and he let them fall. These weren't the tears of grief he'd been trying to hold in, but were hot, mad tears for his brother, the twin that it seemed the world was already forgetting. It was easy to convert his sadness into anger and it did it with passion, wanting to throw something and punch holes and everything in between. He let the rage encompass him, take control of his body and have at the world, awaiting the destruction eagerly, but it seemed that all it did was keep him frozen in place. He could feel himself shaking from the strong emotions raging through him, the hand covering his mouth about to punch himself in the nose if he wasn't careful._

" _Oh, George…" he heard his mother whisper, and felt her hand gingerly lay on top of the one that held onto the couch. He ripped his hand away from her and turned to face her. "I DON'T WANT YOUR PITY! I WANT…I JUST WANT…"_

_He took that moment to collapse back onto the couch, sobs that sounded like he was dying echoing through the silent house. His mum wrapped her arms around him and guided his head onto her shoulder, rocking him soothingly as he ached. It took him what felt like an age to calm down, to cry himself hoarse and summon any remaining energy left in his body to lift his head off his poor mother's shoulder. She refused to release him from his grasp though, so he settled for leaving his head on her shoulder and joined her in staring at the dying embers in the fireplace instead of tucking himself in the crook of her neck again. They stared for a long moment; he was unable to think of much, let alone how to say sorry for barging in in his state._

" _I know it feels so silly to hear, but it really will get better in time. Not completely healed, but eventually, not every little thing will remind you of him." she said quietly in the darkness. "I didn't lose a twin, but I lost my twins. Not having them with me was the single hardest thing for me about the end of the first War. I didn't think I'd make it through, honestly. The world felt like black and white, it was hard to think there'd be joy again. But I had your father, and I had Bill and Charlie and Percy, and of course I had you and Fred. You got me out of those dark times, got me to laugh and to smile and to move ahead. And it seems like we're back to square one, doesn't it, dear?" He nodded from her shoulder. "Now we've come out of the War again, and I've lost such a large chunk of my happiness again. It's not a good feeling to think that I've got to go through it all again, but I'll do it, because people need me and I need them. We all need to heal, dear. We all know it's going to take a long time, and by Merlin there'll be days we don't want to get out of bed. But we will, won't we? We need to do it for who we've lost, to celebrate what they've given us."_

_She squeezed him harder, and he could feel her tears on the top of his head where she was resting on him. He squeezed her back gently, he was just about sober now, and he was starting to regret coming here in the first place. No-one wanted to make their mother cry._

" _Never listen to the people that tell you it's fair, George. It's not. Fred should be here with us, making us laugh and teasing me that I've muddled him up with you. Bad people stole my son from me, my happiness and my sunshine, but I'll be damned if I let that define who I am in this new world. You shouldn't either, dear. He really would hate to see you hiding everything from everyone."_

" _But I talked to him. I told him everything. Who do I talk to now?" he whispered, afraid to speak any louder and break his floodgates open again._

" _You talk to me, or your father, or your brothers and sister. They've all lost a brother, and so have I. I've lost a son now, too; so has your father. As terrible as it is, a lot of people relate to you. It's not the exact pain of losing your twin, but it's close."_

_He nodded slowly at her words, realizing for the first time that he wasn't the only one who had lost a brother. Sure, he knew that they'd lost Fred, but it hit him that they'd too lost their brother. He felt so ashamed with the way he was acting. He'd been selfish all these years, wallowing in self-pity when other people had it just as bad as him. He neglected seeking out help because he felt so alone, but he was surrounded by people who loved and supported him and grieved with him._

" _Of course," said Molly, breaking him out of his revelations. "You could always find a nice bird instead."_

_She chuckled to herself as she wiped her eyes, but his stomach dropped. He'd found a nice bird already. And he'd stumbled into her home and turned the crazy dial to eleven. He slowly raised his head and blinked a few times, the true realization of what he'd done that night shaking him to his core. She'd never forgive him now. Well, she might, but she wouldn't treat him the same. She'd turn into one of those people that still looked at him with pity, the same way his own mother had tonight before he exploded at her. Now would be a good time for him to dig himself a nice, deep hole in the ground and stay there for a year. He was so embarrassed, it wasn't like him to get crazy drunk, and now he remembered why._

" _George?" his mum asked with a hint of worry. He looked at her and smiled sadly._

" _I think I've found a nice bird already."_

_Her eyes lit up as she beamed at her son. "That's wonderful! Oh George! You'll have to bring her 'round. Oh, gosh, I'm excited. What's her name, who is she?"_

Nice one, dickhead  _he thought to himself._ How ya gonna weasel your way out of this one?

_He took a deep breath, hoping she didn't notice. "Hermione." he said quietly, waiting for either the shriek of excitement or the silence of shock and disappointment. He couldn't decide which he preferred, to be honest._

" _Her…Hermione? As in Ron's Hermione?" she asked in disbelief._

" _She's not "Ron's Hermione", Mum. And she's not mine, either. She's just Hermione. But she's been so supportive. She brought me here tonight, making sure I didn't stumble out of the wrong Floo even though I woke her up in the dead of night."_

_She considered him for a moment. "Why were you drinking anyway? It's not like you, dear."_

_He sighed. He didn't want to talk about it, but he'd already yelled at her while inebriated so he may as well explain why._

" _I was working on something for the book Hermione's writing, and it upset me. It was about Fred, but I don't know where I bloody put it."_

" _Language." Molly warned him. "It'll turn up somewhere, dear. And I'm not trying to antagonize you, but if your turning to liquor to help you write all this down, do you think you should be doing it at all? Maybe you should see someone like Hermione is, not killing your liver."_

" _It wasn't her fault." he insisted. "We were talking about him, joking about him, and it felt strange, y'know? Because no-one's joked about him since he died. He hasn't been here taking the mickey out of anything and everything. And it hit me that that's the way it's going to be from now on. I've been trying to ignore it, but it just hit me, and I panicked, and I left her flat with a half-assed excuse, and I saw my reflection in that mirror above the mantle, and I lost it, and started drinking and writing everything I've ignored and now it's either on the floor somewhere here or it's at her flat, because that's where I went, because she's the one who understands now strange enough as that is, and…yeah." He ended with a loud sigh to stop his rambling. "Do you think she'll forgive me?"_

" _Hermione Granger? Of course she will. If she can stand Ron after all he's done over the years, bless him, she'll forgive you. Maybe get her some flowers though, show her you're sorry. And give them to her when she's already awake."_

" _Flowers? Mum, nothing's happening between us, okay? Just friends."_

_Her smile worried him. It was the sort of smile that said 'yep, sure, okay, whatever.'_

" _Roses. White ones. They'll look lovely in her apartment."_

" _Roses! Mum!"_

" _They'll show her you appreciate her. I'm not saying you have to declare your love for her, but they'll show her you appreciate everything she's done for you these past few weeks."_

Declare your love for her? What the flaming hell is she going on about? _he thought to himself. He was going to rebut her, but a jaw-splitting yawn escape him. He laughed when she copied him, and she smiled._

" _You can kip on the couch tonight. No buts. I'll make us brunch in a few hours and you can head to the shop then if you're opening today. If not, I expect to hear from Hermione that she's received a beautiful bunch of flowers. But now, it's time to sleep."_

_He didn't object, he was drained by the events of the night. He grabbed the blanket that was still on the floor and threw it open as he lay down. Molly reached down and tucked his hair behind his (only) ear, and kissed his forehead. He couldn't believe he'd waited this long to talk to her, he felt lighter than he did when he arrived._

_She turned out of the room to join her husband, but he called her back._

" _Go to sleep, dear."_

" _No, I just…thanks, Mum. For everything."_

_She smiled softly at him, so full of love and joy that he nearly teared up again. "Not a problem, dear. You talk to me when you need to, you hear me?"_

"' _Ear 'Ear." he said, trying to snap his mother out of her thoughts. She sighed her 'I-love-you-but-honestly' sigh and walked back into her bedroom. He didn't stay awake long after that, but as the first rays of the morning shone through the curtains, he made a note to himself to visit a florist the next day._

He grinned to himself again as he sat up, a lightness in his heart as he remembered their conversation outside. She'd held his hand and accepted his apology, and best of all, she didn't hate him. She'd forgiven him, and for once all seemed right in the world. He got off his bed and looked for the Bouncing Biscuit prototype and the notes Fred had written for it, finding it in the third drawer of the desk that held the secret compartment. The stasis spell had kept the biscuit fresh for around three years seemed to have held up, but Ron was so excited by the concept of it that George was sure he could convince him to literally eat it up without considering that fact. He grabbed the small bundle and went to head downstairs, but a knock on his opened door stopped him.

Ginny stood in the doorway and looked around the room the same way he imagined he did. She met his gaze sadly, but he wasn't annoyed by the pity. He could see that it hurt Ginny to see the room she'd spent many an afternoon in and being one of the lucky few who saw the ideas and prototypes before they were released to the masses for testing. He sat down on the bed again and signaled to her that she should join him. She sat with him, staring up at Zonko's poster much like he had.

"You've been up here an awfully long time." she said. "Downstairs is getting a bit worried."

"I haven't been up here since…since Fred…"

"Yeah…" she trailed off, eyes never leaving the poster.

"Bit strange, innit? Being up here?"

"Strange because it's so quiet, I think."

"You're not wrong."

They sat quietly for a moment before George spke again. "Should we head back down? Don't want to keep them worried."

"Don't break her heart" she said quietly so her voice didn't travel downstairs.

"Who's heart?"

"Mione's"

"Hermione's? How would I break her heart? We're not together, the flowers were an apology."

"She told us, btu she didn't say why. But Mum told me – oh shush, she didn't tell the boys, just me – that you turned up here last night drunk off your ass and talking about Fred and then sang her praises. All I'm asking is you be careful, okay?"

"Little sis, nothing is happening, I promise. Besides, even if there was the slightest possibility that there was a hint of anything going on between us, she told me herself that she's not interested in a relationship right now."

Ginny raises an eyebrow. "So nothing's going on but you've had the relationship talk?"

"No! No, wasn't  _the_  relationship talk, but it was a conversation about relationships. I asked her if she was still interested in Ron, that's all."

"Wanted to make sure you weren't stepping on any toes?"

"No!" he said a bit too loudly, he could hear the distant conversation in the living room dimming. "Look, nothing's happening, we're just helping each other out, y'know? She's working on her book, and I'm helping, because there's lots of emotion behind it and it's not fair that she should have to go through that alone, alright? That's it."

"I know there's a lot of emotion with something like that, that's why I'm telling you, be careful." She stood up and patted him on the shoulder as she went to walk out of the room. He grabbed her arm before she could go any further.

"Don't you dare say a word to her." he warned.

Her wicked smile danced on her face. "So you  _do_  admit it!" she squealed.

He shot her a glare and looked out onto the stairs. There was no-one coming up to check on the two of them thankfully, and he looked back at her. "Don't you  _dare_  say a word to her. I mean it."

Her smile faded slightly, losing some of its manic look as she cocked her head to the side. "You really do care about her, don't you?"

"She's been good to me, that's all. Don't want her to start acting strangely because she's heard some nonsense rumour." His serious tone was ruined with his grin, and she jumped up and hugged him around his neck. She was quite a bit smaller than him so he had to grab onto her to make sure she didn't fall. It reminded him of when he and Fred first returned from Hogwarts all those years ago, greeting Ginny with the most enthusiasm of all. Annoying as she could be, he couldn't ask for a better sister.

"That's brilliant. You're brilliant. You're both brilliant." she whispered into his ear. He put her down and was surprised to see tears forming in her eyes.

"You right there, love?"

"Oh shut it, I'm just happy." she laughed as she wiped the tears with a grin.

"Well nothing's actually feasible between us, remember that."

"I will, I will. Let's go downstairs, I wanna go home." She linked her arm in his and started towards the stairs.

"Don't you be telling Potter about what's happened up here." he warned her as they marched down the stairs together.

"What happens in that rooms, stays in that room. Wizard's oath." she swore with a hand on her heart, mimicking their old password into the twins' room. He copied her with the hand holding the bundle as they made it to the ground floor. Ginny stood on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek and then entered the living room to say goodbye to everyone. Harry stood to do the same, and George started making his goodbyes too. He hugged his mother and whispered "thanks again" to her, and she pinched his cheek.

He eventually made it to Hermione who stood to give him a hug. It surprised him but he went with it, circling his arms around her and holding her tightly for a moment too long. When he released her she was blushing slightly, but he chalked it up to him hugging her in front of his family.

"Thank you for the flowers." she said softly.

He grinned down at her. "Don't you leave them here, Granger. I travelled all over Britain to get those."

Her eyes widened comically at that and he suppressed a laugh. "You didn't have to do that for me." she said as she hit his arm lightly.

"But I did, my dear; I couldn't help myself. If it makes you feel any better 'travelled all over Britain' means Floo-ing to a second shop in Wales. Diagon Alley didn't have any bunches big enough for someone as wonderful as you."

"Why not just buy two bunches and tie them together?" she asked. She realized what she said and blushed a deep enough red to rival his famous Weasley hair. His laugh couldn't be contained his time, and he ruffled her hair fondly.

"I can see why Lupin called you the smartest witch of our age now. See you tomorrow afternoon?" She nodded slightly at that, looking mortified with herself.

He was thankful that everyone save Percy and his parents had left when he bent down to kiss her cheek. He couldn't resist, she looked so startled at herself. The heat from her blush warmed his lips before he quickly pulled away, and the memory of her warmth stayed with him long after he had Floo'd back home.


	8. You'll Get Away From Here

They didn't work together on the book at all the past week. George had stopped by during his lunch break one day and offered to take her out for lunch, but she'd already been serving some of Molly's homemade soup she'd sent over so they stayed in and chatted for an hour. She had laughed when he made a show of knocking on her front door and closing it behind him, and rolled her eyes when he pointed out how nice the sun looked as it shone through her windows. It was pleasant to have unexpected company for lunch, but she had to scold herself for nearly serving a second plate of food the next day. She had tried to push down her hope that he'd return and that she'd have company, but like he said, it was Ron's turn to have an out-of-shop lunch that day.

Not that she'd ever admit it to herself, but the thing she was really hoping for was another thank-you hug from him. He'd surprised her yesterday when she'd finished washing their dishes by hand, she'd barely had a minute to dry her hands before she was engulfed in a tight embrace. Her cheeks flamed as she walked down the street when she remembered how he'd nearly let go of her as her shock wore off, how he tensed slightly when her arms wrapped around him gently and how they stood like that for what seemed like too long and not long enough. He'd let go of her as he mentioned he was already late to get back to the store and relieve Ron, and she mused that being the boss and the owner didn't come with as many perks as she thought it would. He grinned at her then and it embarrassed her to realise that his smile had done something to her insides. She nearly missed him saying that being the boss didn't work when your employees could dob on you to your mother. With a final goodbye, he'd Apparated out of her flat, and she'd spent the rest of the day alone with happy and hopeful thoughts.

She could feel a slight flush as she walked along the street as she remembered her daydreams that day. A few were about George coming back to her place and gossiping the day away; others were more intense, like him coming back to her place after work and he'd join her on the couch – the  _same_  couch, not his armchair – and they'd hold each other for a while as they talked about their day. She hadn't had much romance in her life, so she allowed herself these sorts of thoughts occasionally. It was a dangerous game, she knew that, but as long as she wasn't falling head over heels in love with a figment on her imagination (disregarding the fact the "figment" was based on a real person) she didn't see the harm in it.

She finally reached her destination and walked up the outer stairs to the modest office building. She folded her scarf over her arm as she approached the receptionist, but the door to the right opened.

"Miss Granger! Come in, come in, how have you been?" Dr Reid ushered her into her office with a smile. Her holiday had served her well it seemed, the woman in front of her looked tanner and happier than she'd ever seen her.

"I've been well, thank you. You looked like you enjoyed your break?"

"It was brilliant, dear. Always lovely to spend some time away and reset, but it does mean that the work piles up. Cait, the receptionist, is stuck dealing with everyone trying to use my short absence as a way to reschedule their weekly appointment times, but not many understand that it's not that simple. I don't envy her at all, bless her. I'm moving through everyone today rather quickly to try and help her deal with the less…helpful clients, if you know what I mean, so let's get right into it. How's everything been on the writing front?"

"Oh" Hermione said quietly. "It's going well, I think. Lots of ideas floating around, y'know, just trying to piece everything together…" It was the truth, but not the whole truth. She couldn't believe she hadn't considered it before, but did she tell Dr. Reid about George's input? He was a great help, but she might not recommend working on it so closely with anyone, and she was big enough to admit it would hurt her a bit if she didn't see George as much.

Not surprisingly, Dr. Reid picked up on her hesitance. "Is there anything that's causing problems? Flashbacks? Insomnia? Suicidal thoughts?"

"What? No, no, I'm fine!" she said quickly.  _Suicidal thoughts? Really?_

"The few people I've recommended this therapy task to have been in very split camps;" Dr. Reid started after seeing her expression, "some people thrive off putting their thoughts into words, to dig deep and find out the root of what's causing them the most damage and deal with it accordingly. The others either find this root knowledge and let it eat them up, or let other memories or past events be their shield, or catalyst, for self-destructive behaviours – it gives them something to blame without facing their problems. Your reaction was not unlike the latter's, I'm afraid."

Hermione was slightly speechless as she stared at the witch. After an uncomfortable moment, she managed to blurt out an unconvincing "I don't think so". Her over-analysing mind was in overdrive, shockingly enough, connecting the pieces of evidence like red string bridging together photos on a corkboard in her mind.

"I don't think so;" she repeated slowly, "not me, anyway."

"Hermione?"

"George. Weasley. He's struggling, he's really not doing well." She couldn't stop herself from telling the therapist if she tried. "He's been helping me with some other perspectives, like, the War from the Order of the Phoenix's view. What he did while his brother and Harry and I were in hiding. But I think it's grinding him down, and I've been telling him – insisting – that he takes a break whenever he needs to and that I can do it alone, but he doesn't want to stop, and he, he's…"

Her logic finally caught up with her emotions and told her to shut the hell up. Who was she to be sharing George's problems? A friend, surely, but that didn't mean everyone from here to Timbuktu needed to know what was going on in his life behind closed doors.

Dr. Reid nodded knowingly. "He's the one that lost his twin, isn't he?" At Hermione's nod, she continued. "That's not something you get over, not this quickly, anyway. There's been studies in both the muggle and magical world about the bond that twins share, particularly magical twins; I'm sure you're aware of at least some of them. Fortunately for the twins but unfortunately for people like me, there haven't been many studies on the immediate and prolong effects of traumatic deaths of single twins. What I'm trying to say," she said to Hermione's sombre expression, "is that even  _I_  would struggle to help anyone overcome something like that. Frankly, I don't think it's something to overcome. Accept, yes, but never fully be free from. You're concerned for your friend, and I don't blame you. What's said in this room doesn't leave this room, no-one else will hear your concerns."

She took a deep breath as she digested the words. There was such a heaviness in her heart that had been quietly building throughout the weeks that she hadn't noticed until now. She was so excited with the prospect of interviewing people and getting their full account of what happened so she could be on the front lines of preventing any other such tragedies, but she hadn't considered how damn  _difficult_  it would be for everyone, even with Molly's warning. Maybe she was hiding that truth from herself with George. He'd jumped straight into it, hadn't he? Scared her half to death at 2:30 in the morning to ask if he could join her. Maybe she wanted to believe others would be like that too. She tentatively shared these thoughts with the therapist.

"You've got a good soul, dear. Always trying to help. I could see that in my research of your exploits. I doubt Mr. Potter would be half the man he is without a steady foundation like you in his life, along with the rest of the Weasley's." She finished writing on her ever-present pad of paper and looked at her steadily. "Maybe, if you'll allow me to suggest this without thinking of it as a galleon-grab, but maybe I could give you my card and you could pass it on to Mr. Weasley. Or I could give you Dr. Willems' card if you're not comfortable sharing a therapist. I understand it's nothing personal; I'd prefer if you weren't worried strings were getting caught and tied together – don't deny it, dear, I can see it in your eyes."

Hermione blushed at her steady gaze. She must be such an open book to her, it was quite embarrassing. "It might be nice to hold onto your card for now."

The doctor sighed. Hermione swore she heard her mutter "It's always the muggleborns" before she addressed her again. "Look, I know this sort of recommendation might be a bit…confrontational… in the muggle world, but here it's quite normal. Tell me which you prefer, someone being called "healer" or someone being called "doctor"? Do you prefer "potions" or do you prefer "drugs"? It's all down to connotations and what you've grown up with, and with the Weasley's being pureblood I doubt they wouldn't share the same philosophy as myself."

Now  _that_  was a perspective she hadn't thought of before. It made sense, "healing" sounded much less harsh than "treatment", even if they meant the same thing. But she admitted to herself that that wasn't what she was worried about.

"It seems a bit…forward, doesn't it?" she asked hesitantly.

"All you need to say is: "George, I've seen you struggling and this woman is helping me. Maybe she'd be able to help you out too. You probably qualify for the Ministry funding for this sort of thing too, so if it was a complete mess it would only be a waste of time, not money. I'd like you to consider it, as my friend." Something along those lines, anyway."

She considered it for a moment before being interrupted again. "Look, this isn't what you're here for. You're here for your future. Where will you be in a year?"

"Um, well, I guess I'll be studying?" she said unconvincingly.

"Uh huh, what will you be studying? You've passed your N.E.W.T.S."

"I've always been interested in Muggle literature, honestly, and I always pictured myself doing something like that before I found out I was a witch. Maybe I could go to muggle University and get a literature degree, but what would I do with it in the magical world? I don't think I know enough about magical fiction to do anything on that, and where would I do it anyway?" She was talking to herself now. "The magical world doesn't exactly have any further learning opportunities apart from job training, but I don't know what job I'd want. What if I publish this book? Won't that make me an author? Would I really want to base a career around my teenage years?"

"I think you'd get quite sick of it after a while."

Hermione jumped as the words interrupted her, but she couldn't agree with them more. There was more to life than times gone by; isn't that what they were trying to prove with their book? Once she was done with this she wanted to put it all behind her, she would move on. But were exactly was that?

"Have you considered teaching?" Dr. Reid asked as she continued writing. She didn't look up, meaning she missed the look of surprise on Hermione's face. Many people, especially her parents and their friends, would tell her she was a born teacher. It tied in with her ideas for a degree in English literature, but she hadn't entertained that notion in years. "Hogwarts would be looking for new blood for their staff, I can guarantee it. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you must've gotten at least one Outstanding in your N.E.W.T's." Hermione nodded. "If you're not sure, owl the Headmistress. She'd be able to guide you. And I'm not saying you have to do it next year. You're young, you've got time to work this out, but you need ideas or dreams to build upon."

"I'd like to teach," she said. "But, I'm sort of limited, aren't I? I'm not sure if I'd be comfortable at Hogwarts with everything I went through. The amount of times I nearly died there as a twelve-year-old and onwards… I think I'd just be expecting something bad to happen every year. I never had a normal year there – exciting, yes, but not normal."

"There's always Beaubaxtons if your French is up to par?"

" _Oui_ " she replied with a grin. "Grading would be difficult, though, having to translate everything on top of assessing and planning and evaluating and such."

"Australia? You could teach there and be closer to your parents if that's what you wanted."

Hermione paled a little at that. Australia? It was hard enough with her parents sixteen thousand kilometres away, she hardly dared to hope she could survive so far away from her friends. She saw Dr. Reid scribble something out from her notes. At least she didn't have to explain that one.

"Let's forget teaching for now. What are your favourite feelings? Try to steer away from "being with family" or general things like that. You love your books, do you enjoy being in new worlds? Or your studies, do you savour the feeling of accomplishment when you cast a new spell?"

That last one triggered something. Finding out new things, things that people around her wouldn't really know, wouldn't really  _appreciate_ , that was what she liked. Or, on the rare occasion that she achieved it, showing someone the importance of the knowledge she had, and making them just as interested in it. That's why her parents' friends thought she'd make a great teacher, she guessed. It's why she tried so hard with S.P.E.W all those years ago. Making a word a better place by informing its citizens.

"Research." she said suddenly. "Maybe not on Unspeakable levels, but learning new things, being the one to  _discover_ the new knowledge…"

Dr. Reid herself looked very interested in the topic. "Actually, that's what drew me to mind healing. Therapy was always an interesting topic for me, and while it's not so frowned upon in the magical world, there's just not that many of us out there. It's been very interesting to consider new techniques with difficult clients, but oh so rewarding when you really get through to them. What branch of research would you be interested in?"

"Potions, maybe. The way that ingredients that muggles would never consider being used in unpredictable ways was always fascinating at school. But maybe I could create new spells, at least then I could use my Arithmancy skills with it."

"I've got connections with the Ministry if you ever need a foothold into the Research Committee," the therapist said as she wrote more notes all over her page "If working with the newly cleansed Ministry entices you, that is."

"I've got no problems with the Ministry at the moment. They've certainly reinvented themselves. I might have to take you up on your offer later, though. I'd like to finish this book first."

"Naturally." Dr. Reid glanced at the elegant clock above the door. She'd been there for nearly a half hour already. "We've got about 15 minutes before I have to start damage control, but that should be long enough for now. How long do you think the book will take?"

"I think I've started some parts, but every chapter or part or what have you has at least 5 drafts."

"Five!" the doctor exclaimed.

"Five as in an introduction, different topics within the topics, who I should talk to or who I've already spoken to, George's notes, and anything else I still need to research. Maybe consider them lists instead of drafts, but everything at least has a chronological timeline that I'd like to address."

"I haven't seen you in a week and this is how much you get done? No wonder your teachers loved you." Hermione smiled at that. "So how long do you think it'll take until it's done?"

"Done or published?"

"Done as in completed to your satisfaction."

"Maybe, 6 months or so? It's pretty much a full-time job at this point."

"That's still a lot quicker than most books."

"And this is something I find interesting," Hermione explained, "so I'll get it done quicker than I want to."

"So let's say you decide to publish. I doubt it'll take you long to find a publisher; I can barely believe they haven't been knocking your door down with offers. It might take you a week to stamp out a fair deal and then two or three months of appearances to sell the product. People will want to know you wrote it yourself, not a ghost writer or anything. People are fussy like that." She shrugged with that, as if even her years of experience with people couldn't explain that one. "So that about 8 months away, but let's make it a year in case life decides to rear its head. Where is the great Hermione Granger going to be in a year? Hopefully not in this office still."

"If nothing else has come up, I'll probably start looking into research, try and find the best way into working with the Ministry or finding out about regulations for self-employment or whatever I need."

"Okay, those are good ideas for your career, but what about life?"

"Life?"

"Family, marriage, kids, hobbies, vacations, anything else you dream about as a little girl." she said with a wave of her hand.

An image of George flashed in her mind as it tended to do these days. She banished him, though. Who knows where he'd be in a year? Knowing Molly, he would've found a nice young lady that could keep up with him and his antics and they'd be having twins of their own in the span of a year. That life of married young with kids wasn't for her, no matter how common that past was in the wizarding world. 28 was the youngest she'd ever considered herself to be a mother, it gave her enough time to experience life on her own without worrying about a dependent child. Not that she didn't want children, she'd love to have her own. Her parents would love it too. Maybe she could even homeschool them for their primary years before they were shipped off to Hogwarts. The twins would be a handful though, if they were anything like George.

Hang on.

Like  _George?_  Oh God. That's not a crush, that's... _infatuation_. She needed to give herself a stern talking to when she got home.

She looked up then, and noticed Dr. Reid smiling at her in her knowing way. She could already feel the deep red on her cheeks, but that look make it even warmer. "Something you want to share?" she asked.

She took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and her complexion. "I used to have dreams about getting married and everything like that, but they were muggle dreams, like weddings I'd see on the television or the families I read about in books. But that's not exactly feasible now that I know I'm a witch, and between every near-death experience each year with Harry and eventual exams and such, I never really had time to consider it. But I don't want to be younger than twenty-eight when I have a child. I know accidents happen occasionally, but hopefully not for me. I need to get my life sorted out."

"Good thing we're here together then, isn't it?" the healer smiled. "Tell you what, that can be your homework. I want you to sort out a  _plan_  for your future. What do you want? What are your dreams now that we're living in the new world free of evil? What do you want in a month from now, in a year, in five years, in ten? I know it'll all change with the paths of life you take, but a girl can always dream. And don-t limit yourself, either. With the lifespan of magical people combined with muggle technology rapidly advancing I'm predicting your generation could live to 150 easily. Think about everything you could achieve, and everything that you could do to make yourself happy and improve your wellbeing during those years." Dr. Reid stood as she said that and put her notes in her filing cabinet. Hermione stood too, wrapping her scarf around her. "And continue the book, too. I think it's done a fantastic job in helping you level your life out and give you purpose."

"Thank you, Doctor." Hermione said honestly. "I'll mull it over this week. Do you think I'd be able to grab your card?"

"Of course, of course; and it's Jenny." she said absent-mindedly as she grabbed one off the tidy bookshelf. "I think Mr. Weasley will be grateful that he's got such a wonderful friend looking out for him. I'll just put Dr. Willems' owling address on the back for you…there." She passed the card to Hermione with a flourish. "Once again, I'm sorry for the rush, but Cait could really use my help."

"Not a problem, as long as you keep my slot in return."

"The cheek on you, Miss Granger. See you next week, dear." she said warmly as she held the door open for Hermione.

"Until then, Jenny."

Hermione waved goodbye to Cait as she walked out the main doorway and back onto the street. The poor girl barely noticed her, and looked more frazzled than she did when she came in. She examined the card Jenny gave her as she walked home. It was the same details as the card she gave her, but the back said  _Dr Willems. Owl Post 3178 Finite Avenue, London. Contact him if worried about conflict of interest._

She recited Jenny's words in her head, that it wouldn't be rude to suggest he get help if he really seems like he's struggling. It sure felt rude, but she tried to fight the nervous energy building inside of her. Preconceptions in this world weren't the same, sure, but that didn't mean everyone felt the same about every issue. And did the same biases occur in the wizarding world? Males weren't typically ones to seek out treatment unless they had intervention or it was court mandated or what-have-you; did it work the same way here?

All she could do was hope that George would see that it was coming from a place of love. Friendship-type love, not her feelings that seemed to be popping up everywhere nowadays. And she didn't have to give it to him the next time she saw him (which, she realised suddenly, was that night at the Weasley Dinner. She definitely wasn't giving it to him tonight.). Maybe she could give it to him when he was feeling down, or maybe it would be better if he was feeling happy? Maybe he'd be more receptive to the idea if he was in a good mood? She sighed as she walked. Her over-analysing brain had a lot to think about.


	9. You'll Get Away, Eventually (Pt. 1)

George, being ever the gentleman, apparated onto Hermione's doorstep the day after her therapist appointment (which he didn't attend) and the Weekly Whole-Weasley Wassail (which he did). They didn't  _really_ drink much during those Monday nights, but it was hard enough to think of a word for food starting with W. Maybe Hermione would know one? He'd be surprised if she didn't.

That wasn't the only question he wanted to ask her, actually. Last night's WWWW was quite normal for once; he didn't bring flowers this time, his itty-bitty sister didn't accost him right after he nearly broke down, Pig didn't clear the table with a swinging parcel like he did a few months ago (he wished he had a camera for that one). It was all painfully  _normal_  that he nearly apparated home to grab a box of Bouncing Biscuits to break into crumbs and sprinkle over the apple sponge just to see what would happen. According to his self-experimentation, everyone would've become fidgety and unable to sit still in their seats, but they wouldn't bounce with every step like they would with a full biscuit. Of course, Ron had a different reaction to him when he only had crushed biscuits and couldn't lay his hand on a surface for more than a few seconds at a time without it tapping on its own. His youngest brother's foot also tapped but he disregarded that in his surprisingly meticulous notes – his brother could barely stand still at the rest of times.

But the normalcy of the night was slightly swayed by one tiny conversation that for an unknown reason had captivated him. He'd gone to get another glass of pumpkin juice from the icebox between dinner and dessert, when his mum and whoever she selected to help her with the dishes would go to the kitchen and everyone else would stay at the dinner table and talk. Last night's selection was Hermione, shockingly enough (she was rather good at common household spells for a muggleborn), and the two had already finished cleaning the dishes and were standing around chatting. He'd walked into the kitchen and Hermione stopped talking when their eyes caught. And it wasn't the usual striking shade of pink that seemed to spring up often enough these days, but as red as Ron's ears on a good day. She looked away quickly after that.

At her silence his mother turned around and greeted him, informing him they were discussing Hermione's therapy session from that day. His eyebrow rose and he asked her what they'd talked about, but she'd mumbled something about "my future" and turned to dry an already-dry plate sitting in the dishrack by hand. He didn't question her then, but she didn't seek him out that night either, which was unusual in itself. And she'd firmly squeezed herself between Ginny and Ron on the couch for tea, so he couldn't talk to her privately then, either. He'd barely stopped her before she Floo'd home to ask if he could come over today, and her "I suppose" wasn't a great answer, but it was something.

So here he was, knocking on her door and ready to fight for answers in a good-natured way. He wouldn't push her to reveal anything she  _really_  didn't want out in the open, but he planned on giving it a fair crack. He wondered, though, last night, was it about him? She'd been able to talk to his Mum pretty well, but as soon as their eyes met she'd changed colour. And didn't that sound cliché? Their eyes had met plenty of times before without anyone blushing. She'd blushed plenty last week with the flowers, but that was because she didn't know how to react. So he told himself, anyway. Ron had probably never given her flowers during their brief courtship. And it was a damn shame, too; if she had treated Ron the way she had him during their friendship, she deserved much,  _much_  more.

He heard small clatter and a yell through the door then, but couldn't make out the words. He knocked again, in case she hadn't heard him and was yelling at something else. She hadn't given him a time yesterday, but he usually dropped by after lunch so he figured he could today as well. A second yell came through the door with the distinct  _click_  of a lock unfastening itself. Deciding to let himself in, he opened the door to the smell of…of  _cake?_

His face lit up. His Mum had probably sent over some apple sponge from last night, bless her, and Hermione had saved some for him. It didn't smell the same as last night, but the usual scents of home just made everything smell better, didn't they?

He wandered over to the kitchen to offer himself a slice if Hermione had any left. He'd just finished lunch, but nothing beat his Mum's cooking. Even Harry Potter himself said his mother was worthy of having one of her own funny little shows on muggle tellyboxes. He grinned at the thought, imagining how proud Dad would be to see his wife living out a weird muggle fantasy.

The sight that greeted him as he entered the kitchen made him let out a weird mixture of gasp and bubbly laughter. Flour covered most of the floor and the small island counter in her modest kitchen and other ingredients were a mess around the, well, mess. Her usual pristine home (apart from when he was there leaving his papers everywhere) was so different that he couldn't help but let out another small laugh. The only thing that made him stop was Hermione herself, standing behind the counter with random bits of hair sticking out in all direction from her tight bun, flour covering her from the ribs down and speckles of the powder everywhere higher than that. She looked so unlike herself in tracksuit pants and a hoodie that he nearly wanted to joke it wasn't her – the murderous look in her eyes stopped him though.

"It's not funny," she finally said. "Not funny at all."

"A little bit funny, love." he replied with a closed-mouth smile as he regarded her and the kitchen. He clapped his hands together after a moment. "What can I do to help?"

Her mouth opened but shut almost instantly; she must've thought he'd turn it into a joke. And he would, once everything was cleaned up and sorted out. There was a time and a place for humour, and it certainly wasn't in a room with big, sharp knives.

"You…can you  _accio_  my wand? It rolled under the fridge when I dropped the container of flour. Then I can clean this up." She gestured to herself and the kitchen with a dazed wave of her hand.

He attempted to bite back a grin as he pulled out his wand and turned towards the fridge, casting  _accio_  and retrieving the simple but elegant wand. She thanked him as he passed it to her and cast nonverbal cleaning spells on herself and the kitchen. He did laugh then, and pointed to his footprints that were left in the mess as we walked towards the fridge when she sent another glare his way. She shook her head and rolled her eyes at that, and George took it as a sign she was ready to talk about it.

"So, how did  _that_  happen, if you don't mind me asking." He said as he leant against the now-spotless counter.

"It was your fault, actually," she said as she re-tied her hair. "You scared me."

"Scared you?" he asked incredulously. "How?"

"I completely forgot you were coming and your loud knock on the door scared me when I was levitating the flour back into the cupboard, and the bang and the flour going everywhere made me drop my wand. So yeah, all your fault." Her arms were crossed and there was no hint of a smile when she said it, but her eyes betrayed her. They were sparkling as she fought to keep a straight face and the longer he stared at her with raised eyebrows the more her composure slipped. Eventually his stare got to her and she turned to look out the window to hide her smile. He smiled too; he won the battle.

"What were you making?" he asked politely. She managed to reign in her smile, but the look on his face made him roll her eyes again.

"If you must know, I was making lamingtons, but they didn't work." She stepped to the side and he could see some sort of sliced cake on a rarely-used looking cooling rack. "It's okay, your mum didn't know what they were last night, either." She smiled at him softly as she continued. "They're an Australian dessert, Mum gave me the recipe when I called her last week. It's pretty much a sponge cake covered in coconut and has jam in the middle, sometimes cream as well. The cake part didn't turn out very well, as you can see. They're all flat and not-fluffy. I'm going to chuck them when they've cooled enough."

"Well that's a lie and we both know it." He said to her obvious confusion. "You're a witch; you could've Vanished them whenever you pleased, or if you actually were gonna chuck them, you could've cooled them first and then put them in the bin."

She looked out the window again with a guilty expression. "It's too much of a waste to just throw them all out, isn't it?"

"Indeed, indeed. We should try them first at least."

Her head snapped towards him and her eyes were wide. "We? Oh, no no no. Nope, no, nada. You're not having any. No way in…heaven."

'Keeping the goods to yourself there, Hermione?" he teased.

"Goods? More like bads." She muttered to herself.

"That was terrible. Worst joke I've heard all day,  _and_  I was working with Ronnikins this morning."

She sighed. "I can't cook, I can't make good jokes, I can't even sleep properly! I'm sticking to Chinese take-out from now on."

"You don't get to decide if you can't cook if you have someone else around. What are we gonna put in them, love? Jam or jam and cream?"

"Try them next time," she pleaded. "Please?"

"Are you gonna try one?" he asked.

"George…"

"Are you?" he asked again.

She ran a hand through her hair as she looked at the neatly cut cakes. "I was planning on it, just to see where I went wrong. The rest I really was going to throw away."

"Well if they're as bad as you think they are I'm not going to let you go through that alone. And I promise, if they're terrible I won't have more than a bite. In fact, I thought they smelt as good as Mum's sponge from last night, I thought she Floo'd some over to you."

"Bullshit." she said.

He fell back onto the counter behind him with one hand and placed the other over his heart. His mouth was as open as his eyes were wide – the reaction was mostly a joke, but he'd never heard her swear before. The word he'd used so many times in day to day conversation with his siblings and friends sounded so… so  _crass_ from her, it sounded so much ruder than usual.

He loved it.

"Her… _Hermione_ , you're going to taint my soul with such foulness!"

"Oh, please," she folded her arms and leant back onto the bench behind her. "As if there's anything for me to get my hands on to corrupt."

"You don't need an excuse to put your hands on me, love."

He regretted saying it as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth. That wasn't something a girl like her wanted to hear, dear Merlin he was an idiot. He turned quickly and opened her fridge. He recognised about half of the items in there, the other half were either completely muggle to him or just weren't things he knew instantly. "Where's the cream?"

"In the door, next to the jam."

He grabbed the items and took a deep breath as he turned around. He was an  _idiot_  apparently. He could say anything like that to Angelina or Katie or Alicia and never second guess himself, why was he doing it with her? If he wanted her to like him, he had to be  _himself_.

Himself was hard to come by these days, though, particularly with Fred gone. He was always the "quieter" one, the "smarter" one, the "thinker" of the two. Now he found himself subconsciously trying to fit the void Fred had inadvertently left, and goddamn it was hard to do. And exhausting. But this was the new him, he guessed, second guessing things and analysing them too much. He used to get a break from it when it was just him and Hermione and the book. Now he was stuck in the cycle because of her. It was all just a big mess that he wanted to solve. Maybe he could ask her out to lunch outside of her flat for once – he could treat it like a read date, see if there was a possibility that she could ever fancy him back the way Ginny had so annoyingly pointed out the way he did her.

 _Who said she'd fancy you anyway?_ that annoying little voice in the back of his head asked.

 _Shut it_ he replied to himself.

 _She's not even looking for a relationship_ it reminded him.

_Shut it._

He forced himself to look up and he caught himself staring at her smile. She wasn't completely repulsed by him then. Good. Maybe things were looking up, finally.

"This is your last chance, George."

"Huh?"  _Can she read minds now? Shit._

"Last chance to back out of eating this disaster. I won't blame you, I barely want to eat it." She laughed at her dessert with a light tone that was almost catchy. He let his grin grace his lips as he passed her the jam and cream so he could get knives. They worked in tandem as they dolloped and spread their condiments onto the cakes, with Hermione adding extra coconut to those which had had theirs fall off already. It was a good partnership he realised, much like their writing work and their banter. They didn't talk much, but he would bump his hip into hers when he didn't have enough room at the counter and she'd gently hit his hand away from his smiling mouth when he went to lick the cream that "accidentally" got smothered onto his finger. He eventually got a plate from her cupboards (he knew where most things were from his lunches and dinners spent at hers) and stacked the best looking lamingtons onto it.

"Why do we need a plate for them?" she asked as he was stacking.

"We can eat them while we work if we charm the parchment to be food repellent. I'm quite good at them." he boasted.

She looked at the plate doubtfully. "I don't think they're going to be good enough for more than one. Look how flat they are!"

"I'll try the first one then," he said as he grabbed one from the top of the pile, "and I'll tell you if they're decent."

"I don't think so," she retorted as she grabbed her own from the plate. "They're mine, so I go first. And decide if they're edible."

"But I'm the guest," he argued back. "Wouldn't be much of a hostess if you didn't insist on your guest having the first piece. Like a birthday party."

She raised an eyebrow. "The birthday person gets the first slice in the muggle world."

"And in the magical world too," he reassured her. "But not if Molly Weasley is the one hosting the party. You wouldn't want to intrude on my customs, would you?"

He got her there, he could tell. The fire in her eyes dimmed as he went to take a bite. Without thinking, he pushed her arm up so her cake was near her mouth and he wrapped his own arm around it. He hadn't been to many weddings but he remembered Bill and Fleur doing it at theirs. He also suddenly remembered how intimate the moment had seemed for them as Hermione's eyes widened. It was another thing for him to second guess and analyse later, but for now he was pulling on his Gryffindor courage.

"Together?" he asked a lot more confidently than he felt.

"Together." she agreed quietly as she looked up at him.

He couldn't look at her as he bit into the lamington without feeling like a gangly fool, so instead he looked down at his food. As he bit into it a great deal of shredded coconut fell onto his shoes, but he didn't mind. Overall, it wasn't too bad; Hermione was right when she said it looked flat, but its looks were deceiving. It was springier than he expected, and the jam and cream mixed with the coconut was quite the combination. It was just like her to worry about something so small like her cooking.

He looked down at her then and she must've been thinking the same as him as she beamed. He grinned too, mostly because her mouth was absolutely covered in coconut, but he suspected his was at well.

"We'll turn you into a pastry chef in no time." He said as he took another large bite. He'd have to ask to take some for work. And not share with Ron. He was truly an evil genius.

Hermione pursed her lips and snorted at his remark, but unfortunately it caused the coconut to be flung all around her. He laughed as she attempted to wipe her crumbs off of his shirt, but he batted her hands away and picked up the plate, heading towards the living room. She stayed back for a moment and he heard the workings of her fancy electric kettle that would never work in his Diagon Alley flat; he suspected she was doing it to get rid of her shockingly red flush on her cheeks from her display.

Eventually the two of them settled down on their separate seats and got to working. It was nice to be at her place and actually have some ideas he wanted to put down onto paper, things he had actually looked into in advance and made notes of. Working full time meant he didn't get as much done as Hermione, but he was confident in Verity and Ron that he allowed himself to take afternoons off to help with this new cause. Verity herself had even commented that he seemed happier than he'd been in a long time after a few afternoons off in a row, to which Ron gave a knowing smile and said something about Hermione bringing out the best in everyone when she tried. It was that comment that made him want to work harder on the book and bring in fresh ideas.

Tonight he was trying to put into words how the Potterwatch broadcast helped the war effort. It wasn't the very best idea, but it was something that he and he alone would be able to put into words. If it ended up getting scrapped, it ended up getting scrapped. No biggie. Truthfully, he enjoyed the therapeutic process of writing everything down. Hermione had explained to him that the book was her therapist's idea of a way to get thoughts onto paper and out of mind, and he had returned night after night because he felt the same way. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders the night Hermione floo'd him to his parents place and he'd cried and raged and screamed at the world for what they'd done to him; a weight that he was trying to keep removed by writing everything out of his head that he didn't necessarily need in there anymore. It opened up space that he could use to make the world a happier, funnier place. It was what he was good at.

He'd made a good effort into writing about his and his brothers efforts with Potterwatch. The parchment he'd written everything on initially looked like the workings of a paranoid man, with chunks of writing crossed out and other completely scribbled over so you couldn't tell what they said. Hermione had said the book was a key to the future, a way to reflect on everything that had gone wrong to prevent it from happening again. But what if it did? What if he revealed too much information? What if the bad guys in the next round used his work as inspiration to spread their evil messages?

He knew the constant shifting between jokester extraordinaire and a paranoid griever weren't exactly healthy, but he could tell from Hermione's notes that she'd done the same. And she was a smart bird, wasn't she? He was just following her footsteps. So what if people knew that Pottermore was used to spread hope and dispel rumours, that was common knowledge to anyone who'd heard of the show. What people didn't need to know was the intricacies of the charms and spells used on the equipment that allowed those who had tuned in before to tune in again even if they didn't have the correct password (although they needed at least 2 previous passwords and an extra previously used frequency to gain access. They weren't idiots). The constantly shifting times of the broadcasts meant nearly everyone missed a show or two, it was to be expected.

And who cared if people knew Fred was obviously Rapier during the broadcasts? It was eay to tell by the voice who half the cast were, anyway – there was no point denying it. But he thought himself a fool if he shared with the world that  _he_  was also Rapier sometimes. His and Fred's speech is… _was_  nearly the same, but there were a few discrepancies. Fred would constantly contract his words (even if they weren't technically correct contractions), making his speech as short and stilted as possible when he was really feeling an emotion, be it focus or mad or inspired, the words would all be in his head and you'd be lucky to make heads or tails of the words that actually left his mouth. Himself, on the other hand, would still contract words, but he'd also make his vowels longer. Charlie once said that it made him sound like he was explaining things to a toddler and ever since then he'd been aware of it, but he also couldn't stop himself. It was what he did. During those radio shows though, he'd nailed his Fred impersonation. The plan there had been that if for any reason the broadcast was caught and they were hauled off to Azkaban, George could still be a man on the outside who could try and be the one to set them free or claim their innocence or whatnot. In hindsight it wasn't the smartest idea. Not many people knew them well enough to notice that subtle different, but whatever. What was done was done.

A huge yawn broke him out of his memories as he eyed Hermione stretching on her loveseat. Bits of coconut were sprinkled everywhere from the lamingtons they'd eaten while working in their comfortable silence and they showered themselves onto the floor as she folded her hands behind her head and stuck her chest out. He turned away so he didn't look like the pervert he suddenly felt like.

"It's six o'clock already?" she asked herself as she eyed her scattered papers after glancing at hr watch.

"It is indeed, love. You gonna keep going?"

She began sorting her papers into their piles. "I don't think so, I need to get dinner started."

"Oh yeah, right. I need to work out what I'm doing for dinner, too." He said as he began packing up too. He was happy with the amount of work he had gotten done.

"You can have dinner with me if you want, although I'm not sure if I'll have enough for seconds."

"I wouldn't want to impose, Miss Granger. I've got stuff in the icebox that needs to be used up anyway, although I wouldn't object to taking treats for work tomorrow?" he asked hopefully. She smiled and told him to go for his life, so being the gentleman he had been been all day if he could say so himself he stood and carried the dishes out to the kitchen. He came out at the same time Hermione flopped down onto her seat again, looking tireder than before.

"How did therapy go yesterday?" He was still intrigued by her behaviour last night in the kitchen with his Mum. He also hadn't seen too much of tired Hermione when he was sober and not breaking and entering, so he didn't know how she'd react to his prying.

"It was good, thank you for asking. We talked about the future. My future, specifically."

He sat down on the couch next to her for once. He left half a couch cushion between them and she didn't object to him sitting there. He didn't even mean to sit there, his lonely armchair just seemed too far away. "Your future? Why not mine?" he joked, slightly awkwardly. Maybe he shouldn't be this close to her. It wasn't helping his head.

She started to fiddle with a tassel of the blanket that lived on the couch without saying anything. She didn't say anything for a moment and he slightly panicked that he'd brought up a bad topic, but when he turned to look at her properly he realised she was activity avoiding his eye. Realisation dawned on him.

"You did talk about me!" he said like a child seeing one of his fake wands for the first time. He didn't know why he was so excited by that fact but he was. Hermione Granger thought about him outside of their time together. He could imagine Fred laughing at his glee and the thought didn't hurt as much as it used to. "How many of my juicy secrets did you spill?" he asked conspiratorially as he leaned closer to her without thinking.

"They weren't secrets." She muttered, still without looking at him. He was starting to worry. "It wasn't anything bad. I don't think." Her eyebrows creased together and her hands kept fidgeting. He resisted the urge to hold her hand like she'd done for him at the Burrow all those nights ago – he didn't know if she'd appreciate it or not.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." he said. "I know it's private stuff."

Her reply was monotonous. "We talked about how the book was going and whether I'd publish it or keep it for myself, and I told her that you'd been helping me out and she asked how you felt. I sort of let it slip that you'd been struggling with all of this?" She gestured to the bookshelf stacked with their parchments. "And she said that it was normal for you to be struggling even though this wasn't your idea and you've got no obligation to help me or finish it, but…"

Her voice sounded so lost and heartbroken to him, like how people would speak to him about Fred or give their condolences to his parents right after the War. It was like she'd lost someone she'd never get back.

"But what?" he asked gently.

"She sorta gave me her cardtopassontoyou." The tassel she was playing with would never be the same after this conversation with the way she was pulling at all the individual strings.

"Her what? Her card? Oh! Her card. Hermione, love, what's wrong with that?" He could only watch as she finally lifted her eyes from the blanket and blinked heavily at the wall.  _Is she blinking back tears?_

"Because…well because of…I don't know, the stigma I guess? I don't want you to think I know what is best for you – I know I don't, but,"

"Let me get this straight –" he interrupted. "– I had a breakdown a week ago, invited myself over to your house when I was on the piss, forced you to read things you probably didn't want to – I say probably because I still don't exactly remember what I wrote – and make you so worried that you have to Floo me to my parents? And you honestly think with those circumstances it would be weird to suggest professional help." Hermione nodded weakly and averted her eyes back to the blanket. He sighed when she wouldn't meet his eye. He took matters into his own hands, closing the gap between them and putting an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her flush against his side, whispering "You're mad" before planting a kiss on the side of her head.

He doesn't know how long they sit together like that, but his non-stop mind reminds him constantly that he's crazy and that if Ginny Floo'd over right now she'd be hysterical. Come to think of it, he didn't know why his baby sister cried over him fancying Hermione. Maybe she was just happy he was getting out of his rut of a social life that had plummeted with Fred's passing. He certainly didn't think it was something to cry over though.

His thoughts were halted when Hermione's head leaned onto his shoulder. The familiar smell he'd associated with her home filled his nose, the scent almost radiating out of her hair. The clean smell of washed hair and fancy washing powder mixed with coconut overpowered his senses like eh was some sort of lunatic, and it took all his self-restraint not to turn his head a few degrees to the left and rest his head on top of hers.

_What the fuck are you going on about?_

"What else did you talk about? Or you don't wanna talk about it?"

"No, it's fine" she said as his ridiculous mind convinced him he could hear her smile. "We just talked about the rest of my future. What I'm going to do career-wise, whether I'm considering marriage and kids, what my dreams where when I was a little girl. That sort of stuff." She finished her thoughts quickly, as if avoiding another sensitive topic. He decided not to push it.

"You're going to be the Minister of Magic by 2020, and you're gonna be the best damn Minister we've ever had." He says only half-jokingly.

"That was your dream, not mine." She said affectionately and swatted him with the arm he hadn't trapped between them. "Honestly thought, it used to be my dream. After seeing the amount of corruption during the War I promised myself I'd make a difference, but I don't know if becoming the Minister is the best way to do it anymore. I still want to pursue S.P.E.W, and I want to make a difference in the world, but… everything's changed, yeah?" He nodded seriously and squeezed her shoulder.

"All my life I've had a plan, how my future will pan out. It changed every few months or so, one day I'd want to be a hairdresser when kids would make fun of my hair at school, other nights I'd want to be an astronaut and be with the stars outside my window and escape everyone. Finding out I was a witch really threw a spanner in the works. But I adapted and I replanned, not a hard thing to do since I was so intrigued by my new world. I wanted to study anything and everything I could get my hands on, history books about magic and spellcrafting, romance books to study the differences between muggles and wizards, I'd even pour over a recipe book if it was all I had. But now, after all that we've all been through, it seems like a waste of a life, don't you think? To just sit there are read my life away, not living or doing, just being."

"I don't think it would be a waste." he says quietly. He felt Hermione's eyes look up at him from his shoulder. "If that's how you wanted to spend your life after everything you've done for us, no it wouldn't be a waste. As long as you still came to family dinners."

He felt her cheeks lift as she smiled. "Molly would kill me if I did. She'd probably try and get me fired if I took a night job or something like that."

He laughed. "I know you're joking but you should've heard the ranting when Bill moved out of the Burrow to London; let alone when Charlie went to  _Romania_. We had to raid Dad's shed for his earplugs."

"Nothing could ever be a waste if it made you happy, love." He looked down at Hermione and time seemed to stop. She was still smiling as she looked up at him from his shoulder and he felt a strange jealousy of the light in her eyes. He wanted to feel that happy and carefree again instead of thinking about Fred's reaction or Fred's witty quips. He wanted to feel that happy and carefree  _with her_ , he wanted to use her laughter as inspiration for new jokes and gags and products that would make everyone else laugh too rather than using Fred's old book of ideas and hoping he lived up to his memory.

He didn't have to hide the pain from her. She listened to him. He could consider floo-ing her if he was having a bad day where the past felt like it was coming back and haunting him, he could talk to her instead of going straight for the booze like he used to do after the War, or how he did a few weeks ago. Hermione had seen more shit through that War than the rest of his siblings (an exception for Ron of course) and still didn't push him when he felt like his memories were too private to share for her book. He could reach for her on her couch and she'd reciprocate the feeling of being wanted - well, she was for now, but would she in the future?

_She's not looking for a relationship._

_Oh, yeah. Shit._

_Ginny was right._

_Like I'd admit that._

_You're screwed._

_Yeah, pretty much._

"Have you got that card on you?" George suddenly asked.  _Good save mate, you've only been staring at her for a solid minute. Shush._

"Yeah, its in my…" she stood up out of his arms to reach into her back pocket, but she didn't find it. "Wait, it'd probably still be in my jeans from yesterday. I'll go fetch it, hold on." She wandered off into her bedroom to find it, and George took the minute to try and compose himself. It didn't work. Ginny would be having a field day.

"Found it" she said with a smile, holding it between her two fingers. George took it from her with a half-assed excuse for a smile. "It's Dr. Reid's card, but she put the details of her colleague on the back. She says Dr. Willems is as good as she is if you're not comfortable seeing the same person."

"Thank you for this, I'll um, I'll look into it yeah? I gotta run but I'll see you sometime Friday?"

Hermione looked at him quizzically, but she didn't question it, thank Merlin. Before she could finish agreeing on Friday, he Apparated out of her flat and into his bedroom above the shop. He turned around and fell face first into his bed with a strangled groan.

_Shit, shit, shit._

_This isn't a crush anymore._

_I'm really falling for her._

_Shit._

* * *

 

The owl arrived two hours later.


	10. You'll Get Away, Eventually (Pt. 2)

The crack of George's apparition seemed to reverberate in the air, leaving a confused Hermione in its wake. They'd had such a good afternoon together, she'd even offered to cook him dinner for Merlin's sake!

Her crazy, never-stopping brain was going into overdrive shockingly enough. She'd nearly cried in front of him barely ten minutes ago because she was worried he would storm out at the mere suggestion of therapy, and now she was sitting alone in her living room because he'd left. She wouldn't call it "storming out" because 'storming' implied yelling, anger, that sort of thing. Not simply standing up and leaving.

She'd gone too far. It wasn't polite for some random girl to suggest he needed help. Because that's all she was. After this book was over, after all was written and published, where would they be? He was a harmless fantasy now, encapsulating everything her younger self thought she'd have by now. But what would he become later? Would he still pop over four or five times a week? He probably wouldn't leave work early for her. He didn't now, honestly, he left work early because this was his therapy and he was the owner of his own shop. He could do what he wanted.

She'd pushed her luck. He was probably in his own flat watching the business card burn in his fireplace and cursing her for reminding him he wasn't coping the same as everyone else. That they were different. Looking the same as his dead twin wasn't enough of a reminder for him; no, she had to go and blab about her private life to her therapist who had taken pity on the one person who didn't want it and extended her help. And look where that had gotten her. Alone. Once again.

It was like when she and Ron had split up. She never expected she'd be the one moping around at home while he worked, but that's what happened. She didn't blame him for that, though. It was her fault for not getting a job, but she helped with rebuilding while he was catching the remaining Death Eaters. They were only officially together for a few months and she loved him for all he was worth, but after everything was said and done she just wasn't stable enough to work on anything more than friendship. Ron, bless his heart, could tell that she was in a lot more emotional distress than she was, and the rest of the Weasley's were baffled when they announced they broke up two weeks before they figured it out. He'd eventually gone on to date other people casually, and she was mature enough to admit the first lady friend stung a bit, but she was genuinely happy for him when he told her and Harry about the next ones.

The only problem with their breakup were that all her friends were Ron's too, so she felt like she couldn't talk to anyone about what she was going through. She had felt like she was going through a midlife crisis at that point, realising nothing would be the same; there was no more running or preparing for war, her and her first love had split, and she had no direction in life. She was desperate for someone to talk to, but her closest female friend was her ex's  _sister_  for heaven's sake. Who was dating their mutual best friend. Talking to Ginny meant Harry had to pick a side, and she knew she didn't want that for him.

So what did she do? She fled to Australia. Her parents were more than happy to hear she was coming for her first visit since their memories had been restored, but her mother in particular was worried about her reclusive state after the War. She even offered for Hermione to move in with them after her second week in Australia. That offer snapped her out of her depressive state; she could never leave her friends behind like that, move on like nothing ever happened. She flew back to England a few days later and eventually talked to Ginny and Hannah Abbott of all people, who had started dating Neville about a month after her and Ron's split. Together they reminded her that people weren't her friends because she was Ron's girlfriend, they were friends because she herself was loyal, smart, caring, and could be relied upon. Ginny also reminded her that she could be, and she quoted, "fucking hot when you're fighting or chuck on a dress", which still made her blush two years later in her living room.

She stood up and stretched. She touched her elbows above her head as she stretched her back, she did a few lunges with each leg, she even did some jumping jacks. They were all moves that she had to pull once in a while to bring her back into the world of the living, to remind herself things weren't as dark as she painted them in her darker times. She was proud to recognise that George's leaving triggered an episode, she'd have to remember to tell Dr. Reid about it. Maybe she'd have more strategies than stretching.

But was it George leaving that had triggered it? She considered it while she walked to the kitchen and gathered the ingredients for her chicken stir fry. She wrapped up the rest of the lamingtons and put them in the fridge, smiling to herself. She hadn't done half bad on them, their looks deceived them. Hopefully the slight queasiness she felt was from her dark thoughts, not from the cooking. She'd never live it down if she gave George food poisoning.

She considered the question as she prepared dinner. George's abrupt departure did upset her, but it was the same feeling she'd get when Ron would storm off at school. How would he react around her now? Would he still share the things she guessed he hadn't told anyone else when they were writing? Hell, would he still even want to help? It was her talk of writing the book that triggered the first late night visit, and it was her random comment about Fred that had caused the drunken second visit. Without her, he wouldn't have to feel the pain that she inadvertently had caused. She had warned him on the first visit that it wouldn't be easy, but maybe he'd only realised it tonight?

There was a difference between tonight and her schooldays. Back then, she wouldn't be caught dead going up the staircase in front of the common room to see if Ron was alright, it would've prompted too many questions and rumours. Half the time she was as pissed off with him and he was with her though, so it didn't matter then. But tonight, tonight she could Floo him and check up on him. Even if he wasn't happy to see her, she would know and she could move forward.

She frowned at her chicken as she stirred it. Was that the best approach? If she knew it was only her and Ron within the entire common room and both sets of staircases, would she have gone to check on him when he seemingly left for no reason? Probably not. But this was different; she was older, wiser, not just a kid anymore. She was turning twenty next month for God's sakes, something she realised long ago may never happen. She loved her friends and wanted to embrace the happiness they could send to her through owl, not run and hide from her problems like she'd done for the past two years.

 _That_  was the solution. Owl. She'd owl him after dinner. That wasn't a face to face confrontation, and she could get a response in no time. Her flat was on the fifth floor of an apartment building a block away from the muggle-facing entrance of Diagon Alley, providing her with an older witch as a landlord, a tiny Owlery on the top floor of the building, and Muggle neighbours. It was a perfect solution to her housing problem after the War was said and done and her parents officially sold their house in England, especially when she wasn't paying for it at the moment.

She served herself dinner and hummed to herself as she would occasionally do when something went right in her life. She'd send him an owl after dinner, just to check up on him. She didn't sleep well the night he broke down even though she knew he was safe at his parents, but tonight she'd do the right thing and take matters into her own hands. It was what friends did.

George's position on his bed hadn't changed for the hour and half he'd been home. He was an idiot. A dolt. A right mess of a man. The afternoon replayed itself so many times in his head, and he'd reimagined himself on that couch with Hermione's head resting on his shoulder so many times he couldn't remember what had happened properly.

He did remember leaving quite clearly though. The look on her face, the one he thought wanted to call him out for leaving when she'd already invited him to stay for dinner, the one that knew he had literally nothing else to do for the night, was confused. He would've sworn to anyone that would listen that it was hurt, too. But no-one would listen to his tale. Hell, if Fred was still here he wouldn't be telling him either. He sounded like a nutter.

Honestly, he'd been a nutter all night. He'd called her love more times than he cared to remember, and what in Merlin's name was that weird cake maneuverer he pulled? That was something he'd pulled with Fred once upon a time, when they'd tried to fool old Dumbledore's Age Line and the Goblet of Fire.  _That_  sure as shit wasn't something to get flustered about, but he'd been a bundle of nerves that afternoon. He may as well get a tattoo plastered on his forehead that said "Help! I Fancy Granger!" Maybe he could get it to flash different colours based on his mood.

He groaned and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. His muscles ached from their inactivity but he ignored it, nay,  _welcomed_  the distraction it brought to his mind. He was being ridiculous, there was no way he'd pull such a stunt with any other girl. Who left in the middle of a date?

 _Wasn't a date_.

_Piss off, mate._

Hell hath no fury like Angelina Johnson should he ever leave her high and dry during a date. He wouldn't have dared to even attempt to leave back on a seventh year Hogsmeade trip unless it was a family emergency. Katie Bell wouldn't have taken too kindly to him Disapperating in the middle of a date either in their sixth year. Why the blazing hell did he do it to Hermione?

An image of Fred swept across his mind as it tended to do. He couldn't always blame him for everything, could he? But this one he could try and pin on him. Well, not him per se, but his death. His death meant he lost his other half and now he was stuck trying to create his own. Was this how he was going to be from now on? Would the other half he created years after the death and destruction be one he'd never thought he'd become?

He guessed it had to be like that as he rubbed at his eyes, forcing the image of Fred to fade away. He had to learn to accept this new part of him, there was no way he'd ever go back to being as carefree and happy-go-lucky as before. He couldn't see the point of it without his twin.

He groaned and grabbed a pillow to shove over his face. If Fred were here he wouldn't have the time to mope or to try and sort out the mess that his love life was. There wouldn't be time for second guessing, he'd be forced to live in the moment, not Disapperating to get some space to think about the next steps, to make sure he didn't fuck it all up. Living alone hadn't been this bad a few months ago, but then again, he didn't feel like kissing a bird because her hair smelled like coconut.

He lifted the pillow from his head and turned towards the window as three taps pulled him back to reality. A small, unfamiliar owl was waiting for him to open up and he obliged, taking the small note of parchment from him. He hooted happily as George scratched his chin slightly.

_You okay?_

The smart, neat script was one he'd become all too familiar with over the past few months. He wanted to write back " _No, I'm not, you're stuck in my head and it's driving me barmy that I don't know what to do"_ , but of course he didn't. He instead wrote a crappy excuse about needing to use the bathroom and apologised, nearly crossing out the "love" he'd written after the "sorry". He left it instead, passing the parchment back to the owl and giving him a treat from his nightstand again. The owl hooted merrily as it flew away and he shut the window.

He'd done gone and fucked up, hadn't he? He must've really worried her if she was owling him two hours after he'd left. Probably hoping he wasn't drinking himself into oblivion again so she could get a full night's sleep. He hadn't touched any alcohol since that night and he was keeping it that way for the moment, so she was safe for the time being. He wouldn't go back over tonight, it wouldn't do his crush any favours. No matter how "brilliant" Ginny said they'd be together, he just couldn't picture her putting up with his nonsense for too long. Oh well.

He changed into his pyjamas and sat on the edge of his bed. He honestly didn't know whether to expect a reply to his response or not. Most likely not – he'd barely given her an excuse, let alone a feasible one. Hopefully she was in bed and getting a good rest, Merlin knows she deserved it with all the work she was putting into that book. He prayed it would sell better than Rita Skeeter's book, the one she put out two months after the War that was full of rumours and very little truth. Her interviews had been with people who'd lost very little throughout the course of the War or those who'd had the smart idea to flee the country while everything went down, those who could verify that some things happened but not the important details. Harry, Ron and Hermione had of course refused to be interviewed for her book and for any other books or stories or articles or what have you, along with the rest of the Order and other fighters in the War. It was all too raw then, but hopefully Hermione's recount would be further away from that hurt. Even if it wasn't, it'd be too brilliant to flop. She'd nailed everything he'd seen so far.

The owl returned a moment later, gracefully landing on the open windowsill. He scratched under her chin like she seemed to like and gave her another treat while she waited. His laugh at the letter startled the bird, but he gave her a few more treats and told her to fly back home. Once his window was shut again, he went into his living room and grabbed some Floo powder, calling out Hermione's address with his head in the fire.

"George? What are you doing?" Hermione asked him as she approached her fireplace. She too was in her pyjamas, a white tank top and blue and white striped drawstring pants. It looked quite fetching on her.

"I'm proving to you that I don't have 'wretched food poisoning from your disastrous kitchen efforts'. Thought it'd be easier to do in person – well, in fire – than through owl post. I know how you worry." His response was cheerful as he tried to work out what was going on himself. She didn't seem annoyed that he left her.

"Do you want to come through? I've just boiled the kettle." she offered.

He nearly took her up on her offer but his new stop-and-think attitude won out. "I've gotta work all day tomorrow, love. Gotta give Ron some time off otherwise my own brother will quit on me. Won't be a good look for business." He grinned at her and she seemed to relax. He'd have to remind himself to give Ron the afternoon off.

"Can you hold on for a moment then if you're not coming through?"

"Sure, love."

She wandered off towards the kitchen and he nearly pulled his head out of the fireplace to slap himself a few times.  _Stop calling her love!_

Next time he'd just bang his head on the top of the fireplace. That'll show him.

She returned with a cup of tea and a cardigan and sat in front of the fireplace cross-legged. The process of getting to that position gave him a bit of an eyeful but he pretended he didn't notice, mostly for his sake than hers.

"I'd sit closer but I don't want you throwing up on me." She said quietly. "I don't want coconut in my tea."

"You seem very ready to accept that it's your fault I'm sick when you don't even know what I ate today! For all you know I could've accepted some strange food from a customer in the morning."

"Uh huh, and you'd only be feeling sick now. Makes perfect sense." She smiled as she took a sip of her tea.

"I assure you, it wasn't your cooking that made me leave. I bet you a galleon the rest of the lamingtons are in your fridge, they were too good to chuck. Like I said they'd be."

"I guess I owe you a galleon then." She said as she fiddled with the end of her braid. He guessed she hadn't cut much of her hair off after the War, it was quite long. She was also avoiding his eye which he didn't appreciate, but he didn't say anything. After all, wasn't he the one that avoided her before?

He grinned. He knew she'd keep them. "I was actually gonna ask you if I could take some home with me but I don't think I ever got 'round to it. You need to believe in your cooking prowess."

"I'll never be as good as your mother."

"So? The house elves at Hogwarts were never as good as Mum, and I still loved them and their cooking. Don't compare your cooking skills to Mum's. You'll never win – no one ever wins."

She smiled at that, but she still seemed distant. "Something's bothering you, love. Care to share?"

She took another sip of her tea and held onto the cup in her lap, looking down at it as she spoke. "It was just…tonight."

"Tonight? What about it?" He hoped she didn't hear the panic rising in his voice because he could feel it in his heart.  _She's gonna say you were too close, she likes you as a friend, she doesn't want to be with you, she's –_

"Are you sure I didn't cross any boundaries tonight? With the therapy stuff?"

_Oh._

"Not any boundaries that I didn't want to be crossed." If it weren't for his head being stuck in a fireplace, he would've hit his forehead until he couldn't remember that corny line. Hermione being the godsend that she was didn't notice his grimace, she was too busy staring at her cup.

"Love,  _Hermione_ , listen. I told you before and I'll tell you again, you're mad. Look at me, hey." She finally caught his eye. "That wasn't why I left. I swear. I appreciate you thinking of me like that, I really do. It might be good to get some things off my chest, hell, I can't believe after all this time I haven't yet. It'd save you from worrying I'm gonna break through your fireplace."

"You know I don't mind." she said, eyes thankfully still on him. He hoped it wasn't the random flickers of firelight convincing him that she believed him.

"Well I mind. It's not a gentlemanly thing to do, and you know how I strive to be proper." He threw a wink at her and she smiled again. "I think I might take up Dr. Reid's offer."

"Dr. Reid? Not Dr. Willems?" she asked, surprised.

"Either one, really. Dr. Reid seems to have done a smashing job with you, even Harry and Ron have noticed you've been happier the past few weeks having something to do. If it makes you more comfortable I'll send Dr. Willems an owl. She was your healer first, after all.

"You'd do that for me?"

_I'd do anything for you right now._

_Oh Merlin, give it a rest you hopeless romantic._

"Might be better knowing paths and stories weren't going to accidentally cross in there. She'd probably think we're having a torrid affair the way we meet up every other night. Except for the part where none of us are cheating on anyone else."

He swore she blushed at his comment and he grinned at it. That was something his old self used to do. "Something you're not telling me, Granger?"

"Just thinking," she said quietly. "Like always."

"A terrible habit that, love. You need to stop that once in a while"

"You've got no idea." she replied even quieter than before. He could only define her look at wistful, which worried and intrigued him at the same time. She downed the rest of her tea in one go and he took that as a cue to leave.

"When will you want me back, love?"

"Excuse me?" Her reaction would've been comical if he knew what she was confused about.

"When will you want me back to work on the book?"

"Oh! Whenever you're free, I guess. Maybe the night after next?" She wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself.

"Not tomorrow? Sick of me?" He was joking, of course. 99% joking.

She raised her eyebrow. She looked quite cute like that in the firelight.  _Quit it._ "Is Ron not getting the day off tomorrow anymore?"

"Er, yeah, right. I could still come over in the evening?"

_You sound like a needy git._

"You'll be too tired to work on anything, but if you have a strange reserve of energy after working all day, you're more than welcome to drop by. Not like I'll be out or anything."

"I'll send you an owl after work and tell you how I'm feeling, yeah? Won't keep you waiting."

She yawned but gave him a smile. "Sounds good. Talk tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." he said a bit too earnestly. She laughed though, so it was worth it.

She stood up and stretched slightly. "Until then. Goodnight, George."

"Night, love. Sweet dreams."

"You too."

With a final smile and a wave he took his head out of the fireplace, running his hand through his hair to get the ash out of it and out of frustration with himself. He could've spent all night with his head in that fireplace just talking to her, but that didn't scare him. What did scare him was that he was considering closing the shop an hour or so early tomorrow to get to Hermione's place quicker to get back to that peaceful time of just the two of them on the couch together. To get back onto the couch and to know that for that time, nothing else in the world mattered, that it was just the two of them without the lingering pain, without the feeling of guilt for not thinking about Freddie enough. That he didn't have to fool anyone that he was fine, because it was alright not to be fine for a little while.

Dear Merlin. He needed to get a hold of something quick, or he was going to fall too far to be saved.


	11. Think Of The Future, Of A New Life

"Mymy!"

Hermione stepped out of the Weasley fireplace and grinned. Within seconds she was engulfed in one of the biggest hugs she'd had in a while and the happiness in her heart showed in the crinkles of her eyes. If her mother could see her now, encapsulated in the arms of someone she without a doubt loved with all her heart, she knew there'd be tears. Even she was tearing up a little, but she hid it by scrunching her eyes closed and holding on tighter.

"How are you, Teddy?"

Her question was answered as Teddy Lupin's hair changed from bright blue to pink and to yellow, finally settling on a perfect imitation of her own hair colour with lavender eyebrows. She laughed and let him out of her embrace when he started to squirm, but he held onto her hand and led her into the kitchen where most of the Weasleys were mingling or helping with dinner.

"Mymy's here! My Mymy!" Teddy bounced on the spot in excitement while holding her hand. She smiled and greeted the rest of the group, but her attention was drawn back to Teddy who started to drag her towards Harry.

"Uncle Harry! I can show Mymy my new toy?" he asked in a full sentence. She grinned down at him; the three year old had struggled with using proper words recently but seemed to have hit the language development milestones.

"Sure, Teddy, go ahead. Molly gave the ten minute warning for dinner a moment ago, Hermione."

She thanked him as Teddy dragged her out of the kitchen and back into the living room. He let go of her hand to grab a miniature wand lying on the ground that she was certain she'd never seen before. She'd remember if three year olds were walking around with wands.

He called out to her to pay attention. "Look, I can make it pink, and I can make it dark blue!"

Sure enough, co-ordinating sparks flew out of the wand, leaving a train for a second before fading like muggle New Year sparklers. She watched as he scrunched up his face as he did when he thought about changing his appearance, but the change never came, instead the wand produced different colours of sparks.

"Like it?" came a voice from behind her.

"I do, but I don't understand. It's not real magic is it?" she asked.

"Her-my-my! It  _is_  real magic. I'm a wizard!" Teddy shouted as his hair (and sparks) turned a deep orange. She assured him that no one without magic could produce such brilliant sparks with a wand and that of course he was a wizard. His hair eventually faded to a dull blond as he continued to wave the wand around.

"It's designed to work sort of like those weird fire sparklers you showed us last New Years, but Teddy can make them change colours. I'm not sure how he does it but it's probably from his mothers' side, y'know?"

"What colour are they supposed to shoot out?" she asked Ron as he joined her cross-legged on the floor.

"George and I've worked out two different models, the "Simply Sparkling" models can have one of five different stable colours and the other "Garish Gradients" model has one of three gradient colours. The five will be released soon, but we're not sure about the three others; the blue turning to yellow and green looks pretty good but they burn out too quickly, like the magic inside them is being used up too quickly." He pretended to get knocked over when Teddy shot lavender sparks his way and Teddy jumped on him. The two wrestled for a minute as Hermione watched, calling out encouragement to Teddy to take Ron down occas.

She'd really come to care for Teddy after the War ended. Harry of course had thrown himself into the godfather role, often having him over whenever his Auror training schedule would allow. Now that he was a full time Auror he could manage to take care of Teddy whenever he wanted to visit his "Uncle Harry", which was nearly every weekend Harry had off. The two of them got along like a house on fire with Teddy needing a fatherly figure in his life and Harry wanting to give him everything he'd had taken away himself. Andromeda loved having Harry in Teddy's life, especially with the connections to the Weasleys he could use to make his life a lot more stable during his Hogwarts years.

Hermione herself had fallen in love with Teddy when she'd help Harry babysit during his Auror training days when the exhaustion would suddenly take over. Seeing as she didn't have much going on back then apart from learning basic household spells and charms (which didn't take as much time as she hoped) and self-studying for her N.E.W.T's she was often happy to lend a hand. She was never good around children her own age as muggleborn children tended to be, but she felt an instant connection to baby Teddy, especially when his hair and eyes changed to the same shades as her own when she greeted him. Harry had told her that that meant he liked her and that the same thing happened when he picked him up, and she felt her heart melt. He was such a happy child too, always finding a way to make the people around him laugh by changing his appearance to something silly or giggling at their reactions.

Hermione had done a lot of research about metamorphmagi during this time, learning more than she knew but not enough to placate her. There simply weren't enough of them in the world to get solid information about them as a whole. Andromeda had always taken time to sit down with her and discuss what she'd learnt from Tonks (Andromeda not being one herself), but the conversation would often end with the older woman excusing herself to wipe away tears and busy herself to forget about her late daughter.

What she learned from these conversations was helpful but still minimal. It didn't certainly didn't explain why Teddy was able to manipulate the toy into shooting different coloured sparks, but when she voiced that to Ron, he just shrugged. "The wands were my idea, y'know, for the younger kids who get jealous of their siblings, but George did most of the production on them. We gave the wand to Teddy about a half hour ago or so? Can't explain the colours. The wand itself relies on the magic in it, its not a real wand that's just an extension of someone's own magic. I'd tell you the charms in in them George would kill me, and you could probably work them out for yourself if you brought one. It's simple stuff."

"Simple enough even  _you_  could come up with the concept. Hey, Hermione." George had stuck his head into the living room to address the pair. He grinned at her brilliantly and she smiled back. "Dinner's up if you wanna bring Teddy. Teddy, who are you gonna sit with, mate?"

"Ummmm. Uncle Ha- no, Mymy. No. Uncle Ron. I bring my wand?"

"Leave the wand here, Teddy. Play with it after dinner. I want to see your brilliant colours afterwards, okay?"

"But, but I wanna bring it!"

"Teddy," she warned with a stern voice. The boy sighed and put the wand down, but held her hand as they walked to the table together. Ron chuckled behind them.

"Something funny, Ronald?"

"Didn't realise we invited McGonagall is all. The eyebrow, the voice, gave me shivers it did. You should be a teacher."

"Now, now. There's still that position available at the Ministry I told you about many weeks ago. Have you considered the postion at all?" Percy interrupted.

"You're looking for a job, Hermione? That's great news, great stuff." Arthur said from the head of the table.

Hermione's head whipped back and forth as the people at the table discussed her job prospects. Ginny was obviously taking the mickey out of the whole situation, saying things like professional Quidditch commentator and replacing Trelawney's post as Divination professor. Harry could tell she was getting overwhelmed by the discussion that made her insistent reminders that she wasn't looking for a job worthless and raised his voice at the crowded table to stop. The way the conversation halted would've been comical if all eyes weren't on her.

"Mymy is sad." said Teddy from her left. He reached out a hand and patted her arm from his boosted seat. "Don't be sad. Happy night tonight."

The table chuckled at that, and to her relief everyone began their own conversations as the roast lamb was served. Teddy, whether he knew it or not, always made everything a bit easier to deal with, her slight social awkwardness being masked in Teddy's presence.

"All jokes aside, what are you gonna do for a job? Eventually, I mean." Ginny asked from across the table. George and Harry were close enough to hear the conversation; Molly and Percy were discussing whatever Ministry news Percy had brought home while Ron was describing some muggle contraption he and George had been poking around with at work to a very curious Arthur. Hermione sighed as she scooped up the vegetables that had fallen off Teddy's plate and onto the table.

"Honestly? I have no idea. At all. This book is nearly done – the parts I can do are nearly done, I mean – and Dr. Reid said it wont be a problem to find a publisher for it because, well, it's the story coming straight from the third most celebrated war hero. I guess I'll have to start looking soon."

"You seriously wouldn't do teaching?" asked Harry. "I remember you saying quite a few times in third year that you could teach half the classes better than the professors. And you did a great job with the D.A."

"Not at Hogwarts. I think I would constantly be in fear of another gang like us." she said with a smile, hiding her real reason. She'd shared her concerns about going back to Hogwarts and confronting those memories with George, but she didn't feel comfortable sharing them at the dinner table with Harry, even though he'd understand.

"Besides," said George from her right. "She's still in charge of the book, even if her parts are nearly done. How many interview ideas did you have again, love? Eleven?"

"It might be up to fourteen now, but twenty-six if we're just considering the individual people rather than grouping them together."

George just looked at her. "I saw you, what, a day ago? How did it jump to twenty-six?"

"Fourteen," she corrected. "And it's all just ideas. I have no idea if people will even want to help, and I'm not going to pressure them if they won't. I still need you for some stuff if you're okay with it," she directed her thoughts to Harry. "And Ginny, if you could work out a time that you, Neville, and Luna are free we can cover the D.A resurrection. We've already covered the original meetings."

"I'll try and get it done soon, love." Ginny said with a smirk. Hermione frowned until she reviewed the conversation. George had been calling her "love" recently, which was flattering enough even if there wasn't rhyme or reason to it. She chalked it up to not having a very nick-nameable name, particularly when she hated being called "Mione" or Merlin forbid, "Hermy". "Mymy" was reserved for Teddy and for Teddy only. From the not-so-subtle glance at George's face she could tell it was a slip-up, but he grinned wickedly a moment later.

"My husband is an Auror, remember that." she said to her brother.

"I've got a thousand and one prototypes that need a test subject, remember  _that_." he quipped back.

"I know things people shouldn't know." she replied in a low voice.

George looked at her, aghast. Her and Harry just looked confused. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

The two stared at each other in stalemate while the conversations around them continued. Harry shrugged at Hermione when she looked at him, but George's eyes widened when Ginny's flashed to Hermione's. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but George cut her off. "You win. No prototype pranks or jokes will be targeted at you without your consent."

"Not prototype. Any and all jokes and pranks."

"Damn, fine."

"And none directed at Harry."

"None at Harry. Gotcha. Does he know?"

"Believe it or not, no. I wanted to see if he'd pick up on it."

George raised an eyebrow and leant back in his chair. "No shit?"

"George!" Hermione exclaimed as she glanced at Teddy. Thankfully the boy was entertaining himself by squashing his spoon into mashed potatoes.

"Sorry, lo- yeah, sorry." he said. "You really didn't tell him, huh? And he hasn't picked up on anything?"

"Not a thing."

"So I was right, it's not that obvious, you're just a nosy tart!"

"George!" yelled Mrs. Weasley from her seat. "There are children present!"

"Yes, Mum; sorry, Mum."

The rest of dinner was lively but passed without incident. Everyone had a few drinks save herself (she wasn't much of a drinker) and Harry and Ginny (who had Teddy for the night), but not enough for anything drastic to happen. After dinner George and Ron spent ten minutes testing Teddy's toy wand to try and find a reason for the colourful sparks that didn't seem to burn out the wands – the biggest problem with their Garish Gradients range. George's self-created diagnostics tests didn't come up with anything unusual, Ron even Floo'd to the shop to grab a random sample from the shelf for Teddy to play with, but they still couldn't come up with any plausible solution other than Teddy's metamorphmagi powers interfering with inner charms somehow. It didn't really make sense, but magic often had that effect. Teddy was happy with the results though, he had a wand for each hand and began to make the sparks change colours to match his unique hair shades.

By the time the dishes for tea and biscuits were cleared away the house was as quiet as it ever got with nine occupants in it. Ron and Percy were rather quiet as they played chess, directing their pieces much quieter than they ever did in the Gryffindor common room. Ginny had curled herself into Harry on the couch as they discussed any number of things that floated into their heads. George was in the kitchen with his mother doing the dishes by hand, and Arthur was reading the paper in front of the fire.

As for herself, she was on the other armchair in front of the fire with Teddy in her lap. She was reading from the treasury of Dr Seuss that she'd gotten him for Christmas. Andromeda had sent her a picture on New Year's with teddy dressed up in all red and with blue hair, looking exactly like the Things in  _The Cat in the Hat_. They had just finished reading  _Green Eggs and Ham_ when George had sat at the floor in front of the chair (effectively blocking her warmth from the fire) and listened in on their debate.

"Not tonight, Teddy. Next time."

"I wanna."

"I know you want to, but we just finished a story and Uncle Harry and Aunty Ginny might want to go home soon."

"No rush here, Hermione." said Harry from the loveseat. She shot them a glare as he chuckled at her predicament.

"What story is it?" asked George, out of the loop.

"Fox Socks!" squealed a delighted Teddy. She sighed.

"I can barely see in this lighting as it is and he wants me to read him  _Fox in Socks_  in front of everyone. No thank you. Teddy, I'll come over this weekend to Grandma's and we can read it, okay?"

Unsurprisingly his eyes welled up with tears. It was past his bedtime and she was expecting the fight, but Harry obviously wanted to laugh at her. Git.

"Want me to read it, Ted?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, yes!" he replied happily, struggling to get out of her arms and into George's.

George retrieved his wand from his pocket and cast an Engorgement charm on the armchair. "Budge up, Hermione, hang on, Teddy; there we go. Everyone comfy?" George was squished right against her, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She sighed. She already knew this would become one of hermore frequent daydreams, her and George sitting together in front of the Weasley fire. Not too much different to what they were already, honestly.

"Hermione?"

"Sorry, what?" she asked.

"The book?" George said with his hand out. She apologised and handed it to him. Was she seriously daydreaming about sitting next to him in front of a fire when she was already sitting next to him in front of a fire? Merlin help her.

"Alright, here we go.  _Fox in Socks_ by  _Dr Seuss._ "

To his credit he read the first few pages quite well, considering he'd never read the book before. He shot a few glances at her as he read, which she guessed was him trying to work out what was so difficult about the book. The glances turned to worried looks as he continued reading, frowning whenever Teddy laughed when he got it wrong. Teddy was practically rolling around in her arms with laughter by the time they got to the part about Gooey Goo.

"Gooey Goo?" he asked her. "What the blazing hell is this book anyway? A muggle wrote this? Is…is this a prank?"

Hermione's own eyes had begun to water with the effort it took not to laugh along with the toddler, but that was too much for her. She began to laugh with Teddy and she could hear Harry's laugh in the background. She looked over and Ginny was grinning. Ron and Percy's game had either finished or was simply ignored for the moment as they tried to work out what the commotion was about. Arthur kept reading his paper.

"Wait until you get to the lake." she whispered. Teddy's cries of "more, more!" urged George on, but it was clear that he recognised why she didn't want to read it in front of everyone.

Surprisingly he made it through Luke's lake a lot easier than she ever could, but the trees and the fleas really stumped him.

"I agree with the Mr. Knox creature" he muttered before he started the tweedle beetles section, which made her tears spill when she laughed. He grinned at her before continuing.

Teddy was so absorbed in the story that antennae had sprouted from his head. She wasn't surprised, they usually made an appearance during the story. She mouthed "nearly over" to George during one of Teddy's fits of laughter, but he seemed unconvinced.

"Wait! Mymy read!" Teddy said as he tried to close the book. "She's special way."

"She's special way?" George asked, confused.

Teddy laughed and pointed to the book. She smiled apologetically and finished the story.

" _When a fox is in the bottle where the tweedle beetles battle with their paddles in a puddle on a noodle-eating poodle, THIS is what they call…a tweedle beetle noodle poodle bottled paddled muddle duddled fuddled wuddled fox in socks sir!"_ She recited the passage without looking at the book, instead looking at Teddy and poking him gently with every rhyming word. She turned the page in George's lap. _"Fox in socks, our game is done, sir. Thank you for a lot of fun, sir!"_

"How long did that take you to memorise?" George asked her with amazement. She laughed.

"Not as long as you'd think, but longer than I care to admit. Dad used to read the story to me all the time, but I've lost my ability to read it without spluttering along. Teddy loves it though."

"Clearly," he replied drying, but smiled after a moment. The boy was sitting on her lap and smiling contentedly on her lap, leaning on her shoulder. A loud yawn escaped from him, the excitement of the evening finally catching up with him.

"We might head off then, Teddy." Harry said as he stood and pulled Ginny to her feet. "Do you want to say goodnight to everyone?"

"You come over on weekend?" he asked Hermione from her lap.

"We already read the story, Teddy!"

"No, Georgie did." he pointed out.

"But…" she trailed off as she looked at him. How could she say no? "I'll Floo Grandma, okay?"

"I love you, Mymy."

"I love you too my little rainbow. Say goodnight to everyone else, and thank George for reading the story."

"Thank you, Georgie." said Teddy from her lap. He leaned over to hug George who patted him on the back. Eventually he got off Hermione and hugged everyone in the room and Mrs Weasley in the kitchen, before joining Harry and Ginny. He broke away from them just as quickly as he got to them, rushing over to where her and George were still sitting on the engorged sofa and hugged their waists at the same time, falling head first into the space between them. She could still hear his laugh from the couch cushions.

He stood up properly after a few seconds, rubbing his head and saying "Ouchie!" to her, to which she kissed him on the head. He repeated it to George who mimicked her kiss, but it still wasn't enough for Teddy.

"Group hug to make it better!" he said as he hugged them both again. George shrugged and put his arm around her and she did the same, sitting like that for a while until Harry's voice started to interrupt but was cut off by what Hermione expected was an elbow to the gut from Ginny. She was the one to let go first, feeling too comfortable wrapped up in George's arms. He smelled nice tonight too, which wasn't good for her whole "George" situation as it was.

If only her mother could see her now. She'd call her a "true teenager".

Teddy let go and shouted a goodbye over his shoulder as they Floo'd back home. Percy decided it was tiem for him to head back to his flat too, and suddenly everyone was calling it a night and saying goodbye. She was conned into being on call for discussion of new theories about Teddy's wand by Ron, and Percy offered her a job once again which she politely turned down. She thanked Molly for dinner and bid goodnight to Arthur, and suddenly she was left saying goodnight to George.

"About that thing you gave me last Tuesday? I'm gonna try book it in." he said to her quietly as Ron and Molly laughed about something Percy said.

Her eyes widened. "With -"

"No, Dr. Willems. Remember, separate healers, torrid love affair, yada yada yada?"

She felt her cheeks flush at the memory, at the implication. "I remember. You don't have to though."

"I want to." he assured her. "Can I come by tomorrow?"

"Sure. Do you want to stay for dinner?"

"At this rate I'm gonna owe you a lot of dinners, love." he said with an easy smile. She tried to ignore the butterflies that she should logically be over by now.

"Is that a yes or a no, George? I'm planning on shepherd's pie"

"Oh, it's a yes from me. Can't say no to shepherd's pie"

"Okay, well, I'll see you then? I'll Floo home now while they're still talking."

"Sounds good, love."

To her surprise (and thinly veiled delight) he swept her into a hug. She wasn't a hugger at the best of times and the rest of the Weasley's knew it, so she gave him a squeeze and let go. It took him a few seconds but he let go too. She turned away before anyone could say anything about the prolonged hug.

"Wish me luck for tomorrow!" he called out as she grabbed a handful of powder.

"You won't need luck, George, it'll be fine."

"I'm holding you to that. Later, Granger."

 

* * *

 

 

"Smashing dinner, love. You could rival dear old Mum any day of the week."

"No need to lie, George."

"Ah, well, what's a bloke to do when his mum's the best cook the wizarding world's ever seen?"

They had just finished dinner after an afternoon of about five words written down between them. They'd spent the whole afternoon talking about everything and nothing, ranging from ideas for the shop to obscure muggle references George had heard but never understood. She'd promised to take him to the cinema next time he heard a reference from something he didn't understand and was still playing. Most importantly, the afternoon had been stress free and just  _fun_. It wasn't something she indulged in often, but it was becoming more regular with George. She was grateful for that.

"What shall we do next, Granger? I feel like an absolute bird today, maybe we can do each other's nails and braid each other's hair? Go for a walk? Actually, scratch that, my feet are killing me from all the walking recently. I should've never let Ron start inventing, I'm spending too much time on the floor as it is." He scratched at the space his ear should've been absently; it was something she'd noticed he'd do when he was thinking. "Do you wanna go to the cinema tonight? We can sit in the back and laugh at the wrong times, see how many people we can get to leave. Or gag at the romance movies if they're anything like the twitty stories Ginny used to read. Hermione? Oi, Granger!"

"Oh, you finished talking to yourself?" she asked innocently. He pushed her to the side with his hip as they did the dishes by hand. "If we go to the cinema tonight I one hundred percent guarantee you'll fall asleep during the film, you look knackered. Same goes for a walk, although it would be nice to get out of the flat properly for a day."

"I guess I'll have to take you out soon, seeing as I'm here pretty much four nights a week."

"Actually, Ginny sent me an owl this morning, did I tell you? No? Oh, well the three ringleaders of the second D.A are free on Thursday afternoon so we'll find somewhere to meet up then. Might even go to the Three Broomsticks instead of the Alley. Are you sure I didn't tell you? I feel like I'm repeating myself." she said with a frown as she dried the last dish.

"You're going out Thursday? The day of my first appointment with Healer Willems? What if I break down in tears? Who will I turn to?"

"I told you I'd be back by four thirty and considering your appointment finishes at five, you can always come here if need be. I swear I've already told you this."

"Probably had the conversation in that pretty head of yours, love."

She flushed at that. It was a bad habit she'd picked up on from living alone and indulging her introvert side for too long, having conversations in her head. George had picked up on it fairly early in their newly formed friendship which surprised her, but he never made fun of her for it. He'd done the same thing once or twice to her, which she suspected came from not having the constant flow of conversation from Fred, but she was unsure. She decided to ask anyway.

"I mean I guess? I think I've always done it, but Fred could pretty easily tell what I was thinking. I could tell what he was thinking too, which was usually a good thing. But yeah, I'd have half a conversation in my head, but Fred could answer the other half of the conversation out loud, so it wasn't like I was doing it by myself. But now…"

"Now you're falling into Hermione Granger levels of crazy." she finished with a teasing smile. He grabbed the tea towel from her hands and hung it up for her before gesturing to her own living room. The irony wasn't lost on her, him directing her where to go in her own flat, but he smiled widely at her in retaliation. She walked in front of him and sat down in the middle of her sofa, pleasantly surprised when he sat next to her again. He propped his feet on her coffee table and she smacked his thigh lightly.

"Just because  _your_  legs can't reach." he huffed, taking his feet off the table. The next second they were back though, but he hooked his long leg behind both of hers and put them on top of both his legs.

"Believe it or not, George, my reach wasn't the problem I had." she said as she put her legs back down.

He sighed sarcastically. "You're just like Mum sometimes, love. You gotta loosen up a touch."

"That's the second time you've compared me to your mother tonight, not including your comparison of the smell of my place and the Burrow. Do you miss Molly or something?" she said as she again nudged his feet off her wooden coffee table that she could easily and magically remove the scratches from. It was the principle that annoyed her, darn it.

"You're just a very homely person." he said as he rested an ankle on the other knee and started bouncing his legs.

"Of course I'm being homely; this is my  _home._ " she muttered as she pressed down on his knee to stop the bouncing. He grinned at her and kept going. She huffed and tied her hair into a bun, if only to give herself a good reason to move her hand from where she wanted it to stay.

His easy-going grin was a reminder of their Hogwarts days. That was a miracle in itself considering everything he'd been though the past couple of years, but something had happened to him, mainly over the past few weeks, that had breathed air into the spark of life he'd just barely held onto when Fred had passed. Yes, there were undeniable moments where he'd lose his train of thought in his own head or just disappear altogether, but he was evolving into a new George, just like she was trying to find the new Hermione in the post-Voldemort world. They both still had a long and almost guaranteed painful road to walk down to get to the other side, but still, they were doing it. Like Dr. Reid said, it was the small victories that counted.

Hermione privately hoped that George's wellbeing was increasing from the work they had done together with the book. Having someone to talk to about everything made a world of difference, especially on the days where the words simply wouldn't come out; hopefully they'd still be friends afterwards.

"I'm bloody annoyed about Teddy." George said, interrupting her thoughts. "I was sitting there watching him after we got another wand outta the shop, and I'm thinking to myself, "how can I steal his magic?" That was a thought that went through my head. How to steal magic from a three-year-old. Am I barmy?"

"He certainly has some extraordinary magic." she agreed. "Innate magic, mind you. No stealing that."

George hummed his agreement and started to drum his fingers on his knee as he played with the hair near his missing ear. She could only guess he was trying to work out the Metamorpmagi power the child had somehow produced with a fake wand. Her mind drifted to thoughts and memories of Teddy as he tapped.

"He looks so grown up now, doesn't he?" she mused to herself.

"Did you see Ginny's face when his hair turned Weasley? Mum couldn't help herself, could she? She's already got the one grandkid from Bill, don't know why she suddenly needs one from her youngest child too."

She crossed her legs underneath her on the couch. "Your mum just wants more grandchildren I guess. I don't think she particularly cares exactly who she gets them from, although Ginny and Harry are at least married."

"Well she won't be getting them from me." he said casually.

"Oh George, don't have that attitude! You'll find your own Ginny someday." she said soothingly as she patted his hand. He blanched at the thought and she mirrored his earlier grin.

"You're sick in the head, you know that?" he said as he shook his head.

"You know what I meant. One day you'll find someone who you love just as much as your parents love each other and before you know it your children will be getting miniature sweaters for Christmas."

"You really think that something like that just happens, don't you?" he said as he looked at her, amused.

"It's not impossible." She frowned as she crossed her arms. "Why wouldn't you want that?"

"Which parts?"

"The kids part. You're great with them; Teddy adores you and you're so vibrant and doting at the shop…why not have your own?"

"Because bad things happen to twins in this family." he said, suddenly serious.

"Okay?" She was confused about where his train of thought was going. Was he convinced he was going to have twins?

"I'm not gonna…I can't let that happen to someone else. I nearly threw myself into the grave when we buried him. I can't…can't do it again. I wouldn't make it through." After a moment he shook his head violently, as if trying to expel the thoughts via force. Hermione was lost. She had no idea how to deal with the revelation without prompting him to leave.

They sat in silence. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't awkward. It was just two people too stuck in their own thoughts to notice the lack of conversation.

All of a sudden she was angry. Mad. Livid. It had been over two years since she'd finally stopped having to save her best friends from the danger that absolutely no one should've had to been in. Over two years since the insomnia started, over two years since she started having such vivid nightmares she'd floo Harry and Ron and Ginny to make sure they were still alive. It had been eighteen months since she'd had to rub a dittany mixture over her wounds from Bellatrix LeStrange just so they wouldn't be as ugly or imposing as they were made to be with the seemingly cursed knife. Eighteen full months since she realised that getting "better" (aka  _coping_ ) like Ron and Harry was simply not possible for her. Eighteen months since she and Ron had mutually split, throwing the last of her feasible plans that she'd held onto for more than a few years fizzle and fade into misery.

None of this was her fault. Some would argue that being friends with Harry Potter made it her fault, but she'd argue right back that it wasn't Harry's fault either, it was the fault of a psychopath that believed in a prophecy and some bullshit about blood. A psychopath that had left her life in pieces along with so many others, including the silent man next to her.

"I'm having children." she declared.

"Huh?"

"Children, George. I want children. Not now." she reassured him as he looked at her, slightly scared. "But kids will be a final "take that" to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, wouldn't it? Undesirable number two living her life, married with kids, doing whatever the... the  _hell_  she wants because she's deserved it, not dead and made an example of in their schemes and plans. Once this book is done, I'm moving far, far away from the memories. Only forwards. Towards hope."

George's scared expression had been replaced by something else she couldn't quite decipher as she spoke. Her anger and her speech had given her a second wind though, so she wasn't embarrassed with her slight outburst.

He blew out a long puff of air. "That was…slightly hot, Granger. I'm digging the confidence."

She felt her face flush bright red in an instant. She regretted tying her hair in a bun now, she wanted to use the thick strands as a curtain against his smug gaze. She still wasn't embarrassed, but  _hot?_  It was the same type of speech she'd given at the first D.A meeting. Not that it mattered because it was so far in the past, but she hoped no one found it "hot" then. That would just be weird.

"It's a compelling argument, love; I'll give you that. I can almost guarantee it would work on anyone."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone but me, of course. I'm set. No kids, less heartbreak. Less chance of heartbreak, anyway." He let out a yawn, it was getting late.

"That's no way to live your life, George."

"I know, Mum."

"Oh, honestly!" she snapped.

He nudged his leg against hers. "You know I'm joking."

She huffed but had already forgiven him. He could tell as well, the git.

"At least talk to Dr. Willems about it." she said. "Not having kids is a perfectly sound life choice, but it has to be for the right reasons. You can't worry that everything will go wrong, that's what we were all fighting against."

"You think that's something to talk to Healer Willems about?"

She didn't know why he sounded so surprised by the thought but she went with it. "Of course you should. It would probably come up in natural conversation anyway, talking about Fred and everything else."

He turned his body away from her and flopped onto the armrest of the couch. "I don't want to talk about Fred to anyone." he sighed dramatically. She could tell the dramatics were a show but his words were true.

"You talk about Fred to me." she said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about Fred to anyone else but you." he sighed again. "You're easy to talk to. You knew him, he loved you like a sister, hell, you approved of the shop before Mum did! I don't wanna have to reiterate every detail of his life to some bloke in a stuffy office so he can understand what's going on in here, y'know?" He gestured to his head as he spoke.

"I get what you mean; it was hard to do that with Dr. Reid initially, especially clearing up stuff she'd read about in the Daily Prophet when it was controlled by Voldemort. But it can be a good thing too. You can tell him the parts you want him to know, nothing more and nothing less."

"I guess… Are you sure you're right if I pop in afterwards? I don't wanna bombard you with my problems yet again."

She smiled warmly at him to reassure him. "You don't bombard me at all, George. You know that. Besides, I see you after every appointment anyway at family dinners."

"Well you're the lucky lass, aren't you?" he said with only a fraction of his usual humour.

It pained her to see him so broken again. She uncrossed her legs and scooted towards the end of the couch. "Come here." she said quietly, trying to keep any pity out of her voice.

"Huh?"

"I said, come here." She gestured to herself but he still didn't get the memo. Sighing, she held both of his hands tightly and pulled him up into a sitting position, letting go only to hold his shoulders and turn his back towards her. She pushed down the front of his shoulders until his head was resting in her lap. She pushed his long hair away from his forehead and started stroking his forehead with her thumb, the way her mum used to do for her when she was nervous about starting her first day of a new year or a test she felt she hadn't studied enough for. It was the thing she missed most about her parents being so far away now, that she couldn't simply turn up on their doorstep and fall into their support.

"You alright there, love?" he said with a frown.

She tried to smooth out the crinkles of his forehead with her thumb. "You're nervous about seeing the therapist. It was my idea after all, so I think it's fair I try and relax you, yeah?"

"Be more relaxing with the bright lights not shining into my eyes."

With a gentle wave of her hand the single light in the room turned off. The fire was practically dead, its light barely landing on the pair.

"Also slightly hot, love. No wand at all?"

"No wand at all." she agreed. "How long will it take me to get to "sorta hot?""

"Not long at all at this rate- oh, scratch there please. No, ba-yeah there. That's better. You're a goddess. A true saint."

"I thought you were the holy one." she said as she drifted her fingers over to where his ear used to be. He shivered slightly at the touch and she apologised quietly, moving her hand back to where it had been playing with his hair before.

"S'alright. Just weird when someone else touches it, y'know?" He snorted at himself. "Of course you don't know, how would you? When I touch it it's fine, nothing changes, but when someone else touches it it's like there a ghostly sort of feeling, a tingly sensation on the side of my head to let me know I'm missing something. Not bad per se, just strange. You can touch it if you want."

She didn't move positions initially; she didn't want to seem rude and start pawing at the space to find out. Instead she kept her fingers running through his hair, hair that hadn't been cut in a while but was healthy enough and didn't smell like anything in particular. Her ministrations caused his breath to even out a few times but he stayed awake, occasionally humming a mindless tune she assumed was to cover up hums of contentment. His eyes stayed shut and she wanted her fingers go through his hair in the dull firelight, not thinking about much at all.

Slowly her hand made its way to the flat part of his head no longer obscured by an ear. She felt him tense up when he picked up on what she was doing and she froze, not wanting to push what she was now certain was a mock invite to touch one of the things he seemed most sensitive about.

His hand reached above his head, his fingers intertwining over the top of hers as he guided her hand the rest of the way to the void space her twisted curiosity wished to study. She was grateful for many things in that moment, the dim light, George having his eyes closed, his body releasing its tension as she moved her fingers lightly over his skull.

She didn't know why she was so fascinated, honestly; she'd seen the man so many times since the incident that took his ear away that she mostly forgot anything was missing. Maybe it was simply because she'd gotten to know George so well over the past few months that she'd found something else to explore, something else that beckoned her to study him that she gave in. It was how he wound up lying in her lap after all. He shivered slightly again.

"Sorry!" she whispered to him as she moved her hand away. Again, he laced his fingers with hers and moved them back.

"S'fine, it's a nice feeling. Not…pitying me for it…like the others." he said slowly as he began to drift off again. She couldn't blame him as she was quite comfortable herself. She slowly drifted her hand back over to the top of his head and combed her fingers through it, hoping that he wouldn't have overly greasy hair the next day. She could probably play with his hair all night; it was quite calming and she didn't feel tired in the slightest. It was one of her increasingly rare sleepless nights.

"You'd be a good mum, 'Mione." he mumbled sleepily.

"You'd be a good dad." she whispered so she wouldn't wake him.

"B'perfect paren…" His speech broke off with a loud inhale and a small jerk of his body. He was well and truly asleep.

It was almost time for the sun to rise when Hermione felt the first signs of tiredness. Her hands had stopped running through George's hair hours ago; instead she rubbed his thumb across his temple and thought about nothing in particular. That was a lie. Vague thoughts, almost like memories the way they held her emotions, scattered through her head during the night. She couldn't remember most, but the murky idea of George being the one she ran to after a horrible nightmare or confronting therapy session left a lasting impression.

By the time she awoke on the top of her bed with last nights clothes still on and a scribbled note from George requesting her to visit the shop for lunch if she woke up before midday (it was already two o'clock when she woke) the image of bushy haired, freckled twins refused to leave her mind. She'd convinced herself before that the thoughts were harmless, just the slightly comical fantasies of an unemployed, bored teenager with nothing to do. She was getting into dangerous territory now though, and she had to find a way to get out, and fast.


	12. Don't Get Lost In The Memories

Lunchtime on Thursday saw Hermione walking into Three Broomsticks to meet up with Ginny, Neville, and Luna as planned. She felt a bit like Rita Skeeter as she walked in the door, excited for the details of a horrible period of Hogwarts’ history. Except that she wasn’t a manipulative liar and stalker that followed “Mr. Potter” around for months after the War ended; no, Hermione herself got that elusive first interview with Harry a month back when she invited him round for tea and he asked her about how her writing was progressing.

“Hermione!” a voice called as she wiped her feet on the mat inside the inn. Looking around she spotted Neville and Luna in a booth near the back, barely visible in the entranceway. She made her way over and greeted the pair with hugs, thanking them for coming out to meet her.

“Is Ginny here yet?” she asked Luna as Neville went up to get drinks.

“Not yet, I think she might be late. She is coming back from Switzerland, after all.”

“Switzerland? When did she get there? We could’ve planned this another time, there’s no rush!” she said with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

Luna laughed. “We know how she is; she can’t make the world revolve around her but she’ll change the revolutions to suit her. She gets to go to Belgium tomorrow because she’s coming back today, plus she gets to see Harry. You just gave her the perfect excuse.” Luna’s bright smile held no room for argument. “Besides, she was talking about how hard it is to catch up nowadays with everyone working. Being an adult isn’t as fun as it looked on the outside, is it?”

“Sure it is.” said Neville as he slid into the seat next to Hermione after laying out the butterbeers. “You just have to make time for fun. Today, for example, won’t be all book talk, will it? It’ll be a stroll down memory lane and a chance to book our next outing. Maybe next time we can bring partners?”

“I’m afraid I won’t have anyone.” Luna said. “Jacob and I aren’t together anymore but I would love to see Hannah again. Will you bring George?” she asked Hermione.

“Who is Jacob?” she asked. “Well, who _was_ Jacob? How come Ginny didn’t tell me about him? When did you split?”

“Jacob worked at the Quibbler for a while. Daddy didn’t like him very much and I can see why, he said terrible things about the Quibbler in his resignation letter. I haven’t spoken to him since, so it ended about a month ago.”

“A month!” Hermione exclaimed. “I haven’t spoken to you in a month! Oh my gosh, Luna, I am so sorry I’ve been such a terrible friend. This book should be finished in about a month or two if we stick to my schedule and then I’m all yours, okay?”

“Of course. You have been working rather hard on this whole writing thing, I can’t believe it’s only been six or seven months. Some of our articles take longer than that, but those are the ones about creatures that only appear the day before an eclipse or breed during festivals.”

“Naturally.” Hermione agreed. Finishing Hogwarts and joining her father to run the Quibbler had done wonders for Luna. Her references to what Hermione considered to be “foolish creatures” back in her Hogwarts days had significantly been cut down now that she could discuss them to her hearts content with likeminded people at the Quibbler. Similarly, her and Luna’s friendship had blossomed into something more balanced now that she didn’t try and avoid the blonde girl because she couldn’t understand the appeal of seemingly fake creatures. And it was true, she had been a terrible friend by barely seeing her and Neville for nearly half a year, but her excuse of writing was thankfully about to be over with. She could restart her life, as was the intended goal of the exercise.

“So how are things besides writing, Hermione? Everything going well?” Neville asked her after sipping his butterbeer.

“Things are okay, but I need to start looking for a job soon. When all this is said and done I want to move forward and start my future, but I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“That must be a terrible feeling for you.” he said.

“You’ve no idea.” she agreed. “My life plans have gone down the drain. The only idea I have is starting up S.P.E.W again, but I can’t sit in an office all day after sitting around for two years. George reckons I should be the Minister of Magic but I don’t want that sort of stress. Have you two got any idea?”

“If you’re looking for something to get you off your feet the Quibbler is always open to you.” Luna commented. “You don’t have to do the writing or anything, but you could edit or find a different position to suit you. We’re not terribly big but you’ve nearly finished writing a book so that would count for something.”

“That’s very gracious of you, Luna, thank you.” Hermione said sincerely. It was a very generous offer, but it was still an office job with office hours. She wasn’t lying when she told George she didn’t want to waste her life sitting down and doing nothing. George encouraged her to follow her dreams, bu-

“Hang on, George and I aren’t together! Why would I bring him to our outings? Who told you that?”

“That would be me.” said Ginny as she dumped an overnight bag under the table. “How are we all?”

Hermione’s questions were put on hold until hugs were exchanged and charms were put in place around the booth to distract onlookers and eavesdroppers. There were still occasional prints in the tabloids about the group, particularly for Hermione and Ginny, and their meeting certainly would’ve caught the attention of reporters. Neville thankfully realised this and got permission to cast charms around their small area to deter this, something which everyone was grateful for.

As Luna wandered off to use the bathroom and Neville went to fetch everyone a new round of drinks she studied Ginny. She didn’t look as chipper or carefree as she usually did and had bags under her eyes, but the eyes themselves still held a spark of mischief.

“So you guys have been here how long and you’re already talking about George?” Ginny asked half-jokingly.

“Not very long at all, and why would you tell them we’re together? We are not together.” Her voice was low as if people might overhear it, even though she fully trusted Neville’s charms handiwork.

Ginny’s voice was low as well as she leaned in to meet her stare. “I didn’t tell them shite, Hermione. I gave them pieces of a puzzle and they put them together. It’s a blurry picture you’ve all given us, so no wonder the pieces might be in the wrong places. Thanks, Nev.”

“You’re not together?” asked Neville as he slid back into his seat. Ginny took a large gulp of water and looked around the inn, avoiding eye contact while Hermione explained.

She started with a sigh. “We are not together, no. He’s just been a wonderful help these past few months and I’m incredibly grateful, but we are very different people. I still have to find a job and get myself off the pension I’m still on, plus I want to see my parents more and travel and…there’s just no time right now for that sort of thing, you know?”

She was met with nods, sincere and understanding ones from Neville and quick, sarcastic ones from Ginny. She nearly called Ginny out on it too, but was saved with Luna’s return.

“Did you have a rough idea of where to start or do you want us to take the lead. I had a dream last night about the Dabberblimp’s assisting us in battle that I’m quite certain was a memory rather than a dream.” Luna asked as she made patterns in the condensation on her butterbeer glass.

“Uh, actually I had a few questions, but they’re pretty opened ended, so if it becomes relevant you can add it in?” she said doubtfully. She didn’t want to offend the woman but she didn’t want to be late home either. She still wasn’t sure if George was going to swing by.

“Sounds lovely. Where should we begin?”

“Let me get my notes…”

 

* * *

 

Three hours later and the booth was so loud Hermione was worried the charm wouldn’t hold. It didn’t matter though; the inn was closed to customers for the hour as the staff cleaned and prepared for the dinner shift. They had graciously been allowed to continue their interviews in their own corner, a type of treatment Hermione was still getting used to after all these years.

“So then, then I get my broom and wave the handle in his face, going “no, _you’re_ the one who’s going to eat sticks!” and I turn it around and clock him in the head with the bristles! You should’ve seen his face, I thought he was actually going to Avada me!” Ginny was practically in tears as she retold a story from their year of defending the castle and the non-Slytherins. “But really, who says “eat sticks” as an insult! I felt like I was six and yelling at Fred and George in the meadow when they wouldn’t let me play backyard Quidditch with them! Maybe he said shit and his lisp got in the way or something.”

“Nott was always a prick though, wasn’t he?” said Neville heartily. “He would run my detentions sometimes and he always made it a point to mention my parents every conversation. What a wanker.”

Hermione had put her pen down long ago and had just listened to the stories the trio had. She had everything she wanted to write about and made little footnotes during some of the stories, but for now she was enjoying the time with her friends that she rarely got to have.

“Nott used to try and hide my things but he wasn’t as clever as the other Ravenclaws. I could always _accio_ them back.” Luna said dreamily.

“Oh!” cried Neville. “Remember that time, that detention that we had once, when he tried to marry us off? Oh, Hermione, it was amazing. He’s trying to get us to admit we’re together and gonna try and escape Hogwarts together to get married, and he goes, “Be careful with her, Longbottom, if she’s anything like her mother she’ll be dead within the year”.”

“But isn’t- “

“Yeah! Luna cut him off and goes, “I just want to be like your mum”! It sounds horrible now I can admit, but sweet Circe it was amazing at the time. He froze up, I’ve never seen anything like it before – well, maybe myself when I was younger, but still. He let us out early after that one.” Neville smiled fondly at Luna who blushed.

“It was a terrible thing to say; I’d hate it if anyone said that about my mother.”

“But your mother was lovely and you’re not evil so enjoy it. Let the bastard rot in Azkaban.” Ginny said as she downed the rest of her water. “Damn, I wish that was Firewhisky.”

“Want me to order a round?” said Neville as he went to stand.

“No! I mean, I have to catch a portkey tomorrow and they’re horrible when you’re hungover.” Ginny said with a sheepish smile. “Next time, maybe?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Neville said. He craned his neck to look out the window. “Blimey, it’s late, isn’t it? We’ll need to head off soon anyway. Hermione, have you got everything you need? We got a bit carried away there, didn’t we?”

“I’ve got it all here.” she said with a smile. “And thank you so much for all of this, really. This way I can really show how much the education system failed us for so long. Since fifth year, really. Now all I have to do is get it all down.”

“A job I don’t envy. Luna, you look exhausted. Care for me to Apparate you home before I head to Hannah’s?” Neville asked.

“Ginny looks worse for wear than me I imagine. I might ask if the Floo connection here is open.”

“Ginny isn’t heading home yet, she and Hermione are staying a touch longer.” Ginny said pointedly at Hermione. She had no idea what the younger girl wanted.

“I need to be back by quart to five at the latest.” she said to give herself an escape.

“For George?” Ginny asked. She nodded before she registered the question and Ginny sent her a smirk. She couldn’t tell if she was blushing or had gone pale, but her face was enough of a warning for Neville and Luna to say their goodbyes. Neville laughed at Hermione’s silent plea for help as he held the main door open for Luna. With a final slam of the heavy door and Ginny’s extra silencing charms in place, she knew she there was nowhere to run.

“So, quart to five, huh? I’ve got-” Ginny consulted her watch. “-fifteen minutes to catch up with you one on one.”

“For some reason I don’t like the sound of that.” she said, trying to hide her nervousness.

Ginny grinned wickedly. “I’ve heard some…things. From George. Care to enlighten me?”

“I don’t think I’ll make it out of here alive if I don’t.” Hermione sighed.

“Great! First things first, George told me that you don’t want to put your name on the book. What the hell are you going to put instead?”

Oh. That’s what she wanted to talk about. That was fine. That was…something she knew. “The fact that nearly two and a half years later we still need to put silencing charms to deter reporters is one reason. I don’t want to just be known for what I did in my teenage years, you know what I mean? It’s done, hopefully it’s never happening again, and I want to be done with it. It’s the whole point of writing it down, to get it out of my head.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t really remember discussing this with George.”

She shrugged. “He said you brought it up in passing, but he’s worried about it. I think he just wants you to take credit for all the work you’re doing. From what he’s told me it’s quite taxing stuff.”

“You’ve no idea.” she said as she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Everything I’ve forgotten about, everything I already put behind me, it’s all back now. But I’m getting there. The therapy helps but like I said to Neville and Luna, I’ll be forever grateful to George from stopping me from doing this all on my own. I would’ve driven myself spare. But I don’t want to be associated with the book forever. People will eventually find out it’s me I guess, but I don’t want it to be in the background of everything I do. It might not even be successful.”

“It’s going to be a success no matter what you put in it, I know it. The amount of work you’ve put in it, the people you’ve already talk to, it’s going to be phenomenal whether people know it’s you or not. And I know that George is thankful you let him help. Every bloody time I talk to him it’s Hermione did this and Hermione said that, I was going to do this but Hermione said this instead, yada fucking yada… Hermione, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked as she watched Hermione pale.

“He hasn’t said that, has he?” Ginny nodded worriedly. “Oh Merlin. Oh sweet Merlin.” She put her head in her hands. “I haven’t changed a bit, have I? That’s how Ron and Harry used to talk about me at school, “Hermione won’t shut up about this, Hermione made me do that, why does she always bloody take notes”.”

“That is _not_ how George sounds, I assure you. He reminds me of my Tom-free diary in second year and the way I used to ramble on about Harry. It’s horrendous. Makes me want to Obliviate myself.”

Hermione’s head snapped up from her hands and she looked around nervously. “I..I’m sure you’re just reading into it too much. He wouldn’t…he’s not…”

“Absolutely smitten with you? Please.” Ginny held up a hand to stop her stammering. “The man doesn’t know what to do with himself. You could ask him to sell the shop and be homebodies together and he’d do it, which is quite sad if you think about it.”

“You know I don’t believe you.” Hermione pointed out. George wasn’t interested in her, the hopeless romantic side of Ginny was just trying to wed her off. He needed someone fun and stable in his life, not a jobless, schedule-less _pensioner_ to hold him back.

“I’m not comfortable talking about this anymore.” she said sternly. Ginny blinked but continued.

“Fine. Whatever. But tell me one thing; if the opportunity presented itself, would you go for it?”

“No.” Hermione said wholeheartedly. Ginny must’ve believed her because her eyes widened, but she laughed disbelievingly a moment later.

“You cannot be fucking serious!” she said with mirth. “I’ve seen you two together, I’ve seen the way he looks at you when everyone’s looking, I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no-ones looking. We’ve all noticed the little moments at dinners, you can’t deny it. I’d hate to think what happens when you two are alone, hell if I didn’t know you any better I’d say the book is a giant ruse for a shag!”

“Ginny!” Hermione said quietly but harshly as she looked around the still-empty inn. Of course no one heard them, the charms were holding up. Still, one had to always be careful.

“Well why wouldn’t you go for it! You’re both brilliant for each other.” Ginny pointed out.

Hermione went back to playing with the rim of her glass. “That’s not the point.” she said quietly. “I…don’t want that right now. I’m not ready for a relationship.”

“You’re not still hung up on Ron, are you?”

“Of course not, let me finish! I just… I want this book to be done, okay? I want to be able to put everything behind me first, so I can move on once and for all, I’ve said all this and I truly mean it. But I still need to find a job and a routine and a way of life that I can enjoy for a while so I can feel like me again. These past few years haven’t been me at all. I’m not someone who can sit around doing nothing; studying for N.E.W.T’s doesn’t count because I would’ve done that anyway, but after that I had nothing to do for a year. A whole year. It was like training myself to not fear noises and strangers and to get used to cooking and not being constantly on alert anymore.”

She was surprised that she had to pause for a moment to will the tears away. “I thought my seventh year was a waste of time looking for the Horcruxes without clues and hated Dumbledore for leaving us riddles to go by, but these have been the worst years of my life. I can’t do it again. I felt worthless.”

The tears were falling now even though her voice stayed strong. “This book, this study, this…whatever it’s been, had been my coping tool. As much as I loathed going back over things that could’ve quite happily stayed in the past, I’ve analysed them the way I’ve wanted to and made peace with them. That’s been the biggest help in getting everything in my life back to a resemblance of ‘normal’, but God, I just want to be happy. I want to live my life and be _happy_. I deserve it. I’ve just got to figure out how.”

“Oh, Hermione.” Ginny sighed as she moved into the vacant seat next to her friend and hugged her tightly. “That’s all anyone wants for you, to be happy. It’s all we’ve ever wanted, you know that, yeah?” Hermione nodded in her friends’ arms. “I won’t push the George stuff anymore, okay? I’ll tell the boys to keep a lid on it at dinner, alright? I’ll keep them under control.”

Hermione laughed softly. “Only you could.” she said as she disentangled herself from Ginny. “I didn’t realise I was feeding the Weasley gossip mill.”

“Well it’s you and George so it’s a double whammy, especially when you’re both one of the few left to settle down and give mum grandbabies.” They both chuckled at that. “Don’t worry about all this stuff for now, okay? Find a job that makes you happy, renovate your home, go on a holiday, do whatever makes you feel like the amazing Hermione Granger again and we can work from there.”

“I still have no idea about what kind of job I want.” Hermione sighed.

“Not teaching?” Ginny asked.

“Not at Hogwarts. Too many memories.”

“What about tutoring?”

“I don’t think the pay would be substantial enough to live on.”

“You’re a bloody war hero, people would pay good money for practical defence tutoring.” Ginny pointed out. “Plus you’re great with kids, so that’s a strength.”

“I’m good with Teddy, not with kids.” she argued.

“What about all those times you consoled kids at Hogwarts after the battle?” she asked. “You found practically every kid that broke down and consoled them even though you were a mess yourself. I don’t think anyone had seen that side of you before then.”

“I guess?” Hermione said unenthusiastically. She had no problem with children she didn’t know if they were over the age of four or five, but there wasn’t anything in the wizarding world for them. Hermione pointed out that fact.

“You’re Hermione Granger! Make something!” Ginny said. “Back in the day I bet Mum would’ve killed to have somewhere to send us to give herself a day off and we would’ve loved anything Muggle that worked, considering nearly everything Dad gave us was broken or had a plug thing. People are going to be sprouting out babies everywhere soon like they did at the end of the first War. Give them somewhere to send their babies while they work or whatever. There you go, it’s something to help people. That’s another strength.”

“You pretty much want me to run a wizarding kinder.” Hermione said doubtfully.

Ginny looked blank. “A what?”

“A kindergarten, a pre-school. Somewhere muggle children go before primary school to learn basic literacy and numeracy and social stuff and all that. But it’s not compulsory.”

“Sure!” Hermione’s doubt was matched equally with Ginny’s excitement. “You’d be the only one in the magical world, a pioneer in the field. Your own field of research! You could find out all about accidental magic and help kids control it while teaching them basic muggle stuff we never learnt about, or like writing and languages and numbers, stuff parents usually have to do or the rich purebloods hire early tutors for. It would be amazing!”

Ginny’s enthusiasm was plucking at her heartstrings. It would be fun to research considering accidental magic was a topic of interest to her, and Ginny was right – nothing like it existed. Her heart sank as she realised why.

“Ginny, the magical population is too small for that sort of thing, plus everyone is all over the place. How would I find somewhere to do it where I could get enough magical children?”

“Uh, a Floo connection? Parents could drop off their kids! It would be so cute too, I’d send my kids there. I wouldn’t have to give up my career for too long either. Oh, it would be amazing. If I could stand children not related to me as much as you I’d jump on the idea.”

“If I go through with this you can be my testimonial.” she said with a smile. It was a fun idea to think about, anyway. It would be a lot of work to do, but that was the kind of job she wanted, wasn’t it?

“I’d be honoured.” Ginny said with laughter in her eyes. “Uh, what time was George getting to your place?”

“Five o’clock, why?”

“It’s ten to.” Ginny said guiltily. “I got too excited, sorry!”

“It’s fine, he can cope without me for a while. He might not even come over.”

“I highly doubt he wouldn’t when he’s got such a perfect excuse.” Ginny said as she grabbed her bag. “Now I have to go wash all these clothes and get ready for Belgium. I don’t think I’ll have enough energy for Harry tonight, which is a shame.”

“It might be a shame but it’s definitely not something I need to know.” Hermione said with thinly veiled disgust.

Ginny laughed heartily. “It’s revenge for George’s ramblings.”

“Well get revenge on him, not me!” she laughed. It had been a good afternoon and she really, _really_ didn’t need it spoiled with those sorts of images.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m gonna leave a tip for the extra time they gave us and head home for a nap. I think Harry’s got a later shift today so he’ll be at the office longer, lucky me.”

Hermione followed Ginny out of the inn after leaving her own hefty tip on the bar. The two of them walked down to the Apparation point south of the inn talking about nothing in particular, but Ginny could tell she was distracted, whether it was from her quick pace or short replies. Nevertheless, they got to their destination with time to spare.

“He’ll be fine, okay?” Ginny said as she grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the marked area. Mortified that she’d almost forgotten (well, _did_ forget) to say goodbye she simply nodded. “He moved on from Fred a lot quicker than we all thought possible, and you’ve been a large part of that. You both deserve all the happiness in the world after what you’ve been though, after what we’ve _all_ been through. You just need to embrace whatever life throws at you, okay? Don’t get lost in the crappy memories; don’t use them as excuses no to find yourself again.”

Hermione nodded again, too scared to talk for fear of tears. People were around them and some had noticed who they were, she didn’t need to give them fuel for rumours.

Ginny embraced her in a tight hug. “Go home, I guarantee he’s missed you. And you’ve missed him, no need to lie. He’s a hard person not to miss.” She stepped out of the embrace and saw Ginny’s taut smile. “They’re both hard not to miss, especially on days like today. Go on.” she said, answering her unasked question. With another quick hug she initiated this time, Hermione was finally on her way home.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione arrived home in a bundle of nerves. She didn’t trust Ginny not to try and pull something out of thin air for her own amusement, but her words held the ring of truth. The problem with that was it left her to anxiously question herself in her head. Was he just helping her because he fancied her? How many other people had he told? Was she the only one out of the loop? What would happen to them when the book was over?

Would he leave their friendship if she wasn’t ready for anything more?

The thought sent an icy chill through her. He had become one of her closest friends, a constant that she found she could rely on. Sure, he had a multitude of problems, but didn’t she? They told each other they’d help each other and that’s what she tried to keep drilling into her nervous thoughts.

It didn’t work as well as intended so she tried one of her exercises from Jenny that usually calmed her down. Putting on her old flannel pyjama pants and her clean tank top and doing her hair for bed at five o’clock went against the self-imposed routine she had, but she needed the calm movements and sense of normalcy to get her through at the moment. Feeling slightly calmer she went back into the main room and lit the fire, enjoying the moment of solitude and warmth before moving onto her next task. Filing.

She retrieved her notes form her handbag and lay them out on the coffee table. There were pages with single or very few words on them, pages with barely any paper showing through on either side, and pages that Neville had drawn to show her things she simply couldn’t picture. She sat down on the floor in front of the table to keep herself warm and began rewriting the shorter notes onto one page, allowing herself to get lost in the words. She mused to herself that it was a much more enjoyable experience to write something that didn’t have set time limits or a grading system behind it, and that was coming from someone who enjoyed homework back in her school days. The task didn’t take long and soon she was finished. She grabbed a cardigan from her room and began to pull out folders and other notes from her bookshelf when the fire blazed loudly.

She turned to greet George hello while she filed the few notes left when they were removed from her hands and dropped onto the coffee table, scattering the loose ones. She was about to tell him off when his arms circled her tightly, leaving no space between their bodies. She turned her head away from his chest so she could breathe and he rested his head on top of hers. Her arms instinctively went around his waist.

He held her for an unusually long time but she didn’t complain. Standing there with him let the rest of the anxiousness she couldn’t quite shake drain from her system and she hoped it was doing the same for him. This was the George she knew so well. This was the side that Ginny didn’t see, the friendship that had kept her going throughout all the writing and the memories. And they did help each other in their own little ways, so who cared if they weren’t a likely pair of friends a few years ago. This was now, this was the new normal. This is who they were.

She squeezed him a little tighter and he reciprocated. Her legs were starting to hurt from standing still for so long but she didn’t dare let go. It was him who approached her anyway, he was in charge of this. As if reading her thoughts he let go of her, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry about that, love. Long day.” he shrugged as if that was reason enough. It was.

“Understandable. No, really.” she said to his disbelieving look. “I wanted nothing more than to make my own portkey and vanish to my parents after my first session, and we didn’t even cover anything! It was just a meet and greet, really. Was yours like that?”

“Well, honestly, the plan was to take you out for dinner and tell you all about it, but I don’t think you’re properly dressed for it.” He eyed her clothes and she blushed slightly.

“I had a long day too, very…”

“Full on?”

“Yeah, something like that. I got home not long ago and needed to get out of proper clothes. Too restrictive.”

George laughed. “Ginny can be like that, but you already know that. How about I pop round and get us some takeout and we can pig out here.”

“I can get changed if you want?”

“Nah, rather not have people overhear us if we can help it. What do you want for dinner? My shout.”

“I feel like a greasy pizza if you don’t have your mind set on something, but I’ll give you some money.”

“Nonsense, I was going to pay for the fancy dinner so I’ll pay for the homey dinner. No arguments. See you in a bit, yeah?” He left no room for argument as he kissed the top of her head and Apparated away.

She stood alone for a moment and then shook herself into preparing for dinner. He shouldn’t be too long considering it was barely five thirty on a Thursday night. She grabbed some napkins from the kitchen and put them on the coffee table, picking up the papers George scattered and filing them again. Once the coffee table was clear and she was tucked under her throw blanket she waited patiently with a book. It was a historical review of one war or another – she’d read so many recently to try and critique her own writing style that they all sort of just blurred into a chaotic and depressing mess. The use of interviews was good in this one though so she stuck with it, but good Merlin was she was thankful she was nearing the finish line.

A loud pop interrupted her reading as she looked up with a smile. George smiled back and put the pizza boxes on the table, but hesitated when she moved her legs off the other side of the couch.

“Hang on, I’ll be back in a sec.” was the last thing she heard before another pop left her on her own. She shrugged mentally and opened the boxes. She knew he wouldn’t be long with food that smelled that good. Inside were two of her favourites (even though she didn’t remind him that evening) and one of his own.

The Floo activated this time and George stepped out, now in his garish pyjamas instead of his work shirt and slacks. “I got them right, didn’t I? The Garlic and the pepperoni?”

“One hundred percent right. I see you ordered pineapple on your Supreme again?”

“Yes, because I’m a filthy, disgusting heathen. Eat your damn food before I do, love.”

They sat and chatted as they ate, Hermione doing most of the talking. She talked about her meeting with the others, filling in George on the details that she wanted to merge into the book. Her ideas were met with keen interest which she expected was George’s way of ignoring whatever had happened during his day. She tried not to let the anxiety rise again, knowing that he’d talk to her about it eventually and if not, she wouldn’t let him keep it bottled up. Besides, it was early. They had the whole night to talk about it.

George banished the leftovers to the kitchen when they’d eaten as much as they could. “I guess you want to know how it went?” he asked, as if he couldn’t avoid the question anymore.

“Of course I do, but you don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. I’m not fussed.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it, love.” She smiled shyly at that but shrugged nonetheless. He sighed and put his hands on his knees. “I don’t know how you do it every week to be honest. I hated it. Absolutely hated it. Hated it so much I’m going back at the same time next week.”

“Yours wasn’t a meet and greet like mine then?” she said sceptically.

“That’s an understatement. Straight into the deep end with Healer Willems, no shallow pools.” He ran one hand over his hair and let it stay wherever it landed. “He’d read up on the Rita Skeeter version of our family and translated it to something more realistic. We had a round of ‘true or false’ with that and then he took a bloody good stab at why I was there. He seemed surprised that I was helping you with all this writing though, he said my personality type didn’t exactly fit in with that sort of style.”

“When have you ever done what’s expected of you?” Hermione smiled.

“Took the words straight out of my mouth, love. Told him just that and he just accepted it. He asked me if I thought it was working and I said yeah, but it’s also completely broken me. I had to explain you to him so he knew who you were, which I thought was a bit strange considering he works with your Healer or doctor or whatever you call her, but they take their oath seriously apparently. Oh, and get this, he asked if…”

He broke off abruptly and ran his hand through his long hair again, not meeting her gaze. He leant forward on the couch and rested his head in his hands. She barely registered that she reached out to touch him, to connect with him again, but she flinched when it caused him to snap his head back up and stare at her intensely. He took a deep breath as he stared at her as if he was about to do something foolish, but nothing happened. She furrowed her eyebrows and that seemed to snap him out of whatever he was fixated on.

His smile wasn’t the same as his natural smile she’d come to look forward to. “Sorry, love. Forgot what I was saying for a moment. Anyway, I told him about how I’d stormed into your place and demanded you let me help, and then how I barged in again a few weeks later, drunk off my ass and loopy as fuck, and how it’s made me come to terms with everything. Not everything, but enough to know I need more help. I can’t do it alone anymore.”

She gave him a moment in case he wanted to add anything else, but he didn’t. “So, you didn’t hate it?” she asked hesitantly.

His smile was more genuine this time. “I hate that this random man never met Fred and that I have to describe him instead of Fred being next to me, but that’s an issue I have with a lot of the new people I meet. It just hits me that they’ll never know how amazing he was, y’know?”

“All they have to do,” she said simply. “is meet you. Then they’ll have a pretty good idea.”

His real smile finally returned at that, a massive grin showing off every tooth he had. She blushed furiously when she really understood what she’d just sprouted off, but he took it in stride and tucked her back underneath his arm like he had what felt like minutes ago.

“You know just what to say to make a bloke feel better, you know that?” he said with a kiss on her head. “Maybe I’ll go to the Healer more often so you’ll tell me all the things you like about me.”

“Maybe I like how you’re so down to earth and not egotistical in the slightest.” she deadpanned.

He grinned and squeezed her tighter for a moment. “I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t. Anyway, I did a lot of talking, he did a lot of writing, I did a bit of crying, he did a bit of questioning, and now I have a double session next week. Apparently I have a lot of issues to work out.”

“Don’t we all?” she said rhetorically.

“Yeah, but right now our issues are quite pressing and need to be dealt with, pronto. I’m hoping that I’ve already had all my breakdowns though, it’ll be easier to just skip that whole stage than do it again. I do regret that you were in the middle of both of them, though. I’d take that back if I could.”

“You would?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Not at all.” she said with a shake of her head into his shoulder. “It’s terrible that you felt so bad and that you still do, but it was nice to know I wasn’t alone in all of this. Harry and Ron and Ginny all seem to have their lives together and can deal with everything on their own, I felt a bit alien around them, you know? Not that I was trying to hide that I was struggling, but I was scared to talk to them in case they started to worry too much about me. And then you turned up in the dead of night and then it didn’t seem so…lonely. I know it’s selfish, but I don’t think I could’ve done all of this without you.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but he did tighten his grip on her again. This time he didn’t let go but he did lean his cheek onto her head. Her arm that was pinned between them started to tingle after a minute and it didn’t seem like he was letting go anytime soon, so she pulled back slightly. He let go of her instantly, practically springing apart from her. He wasn’t so close to her now, but she reached out anyway, pushing him forward enough so she could slip an arm behind his back. His body was tense for some reason, but she put her other arm around him as well and hung on. They’d both had a long day and she enjoyed the comfort he provided. She put her bare feet on her sofa, breaking one of her own rules, and used his chest as a pillow.

Eventually the tension in his body faded away and he put his arm back around her, stroking her arm lightly with gentle fingers. This time neither of them broke apart, and even though it was early she could feel George’s body relaxing into sleep in her own drowsiness. She tried to stay awake but it was a losing battle, her eyelids slowly stopped their fluttering as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

She awoke groggily to movement and warmth. Her body fought her to go back to sleep, but she peeled her eyes open to figure out if she was imagining the movement. George’s eyes met hers as his lips graced a small smile, she was lying down in his arms as he carried her. She tried to smile back but blinked heavily instead, hearing his amused exhale.

“Where y’taking me?” she mumbled.

“The couch isn’t good for sleeping on so I’m taking you to bed. I’ll Floo home after. Sorry for waking you, love.” he said in a low murmur. She reached out and put her arms around his neck as he opened her bedroom door, letting go only when he pulled back her duvet and eased her onto her bed gently.

“D’you mind if I relight the fire? I’ll splich myself if I try to Apparate when I’m this tired.” he asked her as he tucked her in.

“Just stay here.” she said as her consciousness started to evade her again. She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer so she missed the way he eyed the other side of her longingly.

“I can’t be bothered extending the couch, love. I’ll head home. I’ll owl you tomorrow, okay?”

“George…”

“Love?”

“J’sleep here. Lots of room.” Her arm flung out to indicate the rest of the bed. He heard his sigh and prepared for another excuse for him to head home. She didn’t want him to leave, she didn’t want to be alone.

“…Hermione, I’ve-“

“Please?” she said in a whisper as she cracked her eyes open. He looked exhausted and conflicted, and she knew she should let him go, but her logic couldn’t beat her sudden loneliness. “Please, just stay…this is…I need you to. Please.”

He placed a hand on the back of her head and leant down to kiss her cheek. She blinked as he walked out of her line of vision, tears forming as he heard his muffled footsteps move further away from her in the plush carpet. The quiet yet echoing sound of her door closing seemed to open something inside her and the unshed tears fell onto her pillow. She inhaled sharply, trying to will back the tired feeling that seemed to have left with George.

“Shhh…it’s okay, love. It’s alright.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin in fright. She turned and saw George in the pale strip of light the moon was shining through her curtains. He lifted up the corner of her duvet and looked at her in question. She nodded, her heart racing too much to speak, and he joined her in her bed. He was on his back, one arm bent and hand resting on his chest, the other arm lying close to her pillow. Their eyes met in the darkness and they watched each other, both waiting someone to break the silence and slight awkwardness.

“Well, come here then.” he finally said, and quick as a flash she was in the crook of his outstretched arm again. His outstretched arm meshed against hers, his warm fingers idly stroking her waist as she burrowed her head against his shoulder.

She sucked in a breath involuntarily and he turned his head towards hers. “What’s wrong, love?” She shook her head, not ready to answer the question. His lilac vest had the comforting and familiar scent of him and she stopped herself from turning towards him more and seeking out the scent.

“Did you think I left?” he asked cautiously. She paused for a moment but nodded. “Oh, love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he said as he wrapped his other arm around her too. They were both on their sides now, but her forehead was against his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. That’s the last thing I wanted to do, you know that, yeah?”

She nodded again, this time letting the rest of her tears fall. He must’ve felt them wet his vest because leant back and held her head again, kissing her forehead delicately. He slowly moved his hand from the back of her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping the last of her tears away. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Even after the book?” she whispered so quietly that she barely heard herself.  She didn’t mean to say it, but it was eating away at her ever since she’d thought the stupid question earlier that day. That wasn’t true, she knew that he would still be her friend after all of this, but she wasn’t exactly rational at the moment. Sometimes she needed to hear something to believe it.

“After the…are you serious? You think after all this I’m just gonna leave?” He sounded like he didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. Thankfully he favoured humour instead of anger. “You’re mad, love. Absolutely daft. I didn’t think anyone could consider you anything less than clever, but here we are. You’re my best mate, I can barely stop myself from Apparating here sometimes. Nothing could change that, not even me running out of excuses to come over. I’ll still be here until you kick me out. Hell, I’m in…trouble, from Mum for not visiting enough anymore. Fred’s gone, he’s not coming back, I’ll see him again someday, but for now I’ve got to life my life. You’ve brought me out of my shell again, love, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Anything you need, I’ve got it, okay?”

“You don’t have to thank me, George. And I’m okay now, you don’t have to, y’know,” She pushed her cheek against his hand, hoping he’d understand that she wasn’t crying anymore, but he continued to stroke her cheek. She rolled her eyes and he grinned, kissing her forehead yet again. As he did the conversation she had with Ginny flashed in her mind but she ignored it, opting to enjoy the feeling of having a friend with her without ruining the moment by analysing conversations or her own budding feelings towards him.

“I’m serious, Hermione. Thank you for letting me help you with the book and letting me into your life.”

“I’m serious too, George. You don’t need to thank me. We help each other, yeah?” Her smile was interrupted by a large yawn. He chuckled and rolled onto his back, keeping an arm around her to hold her to his chest.

“We do indeed, my love. Go to sleep now, though. Actually, join me for lunch tomorrow, okay? I’ll take you to the Leaky Cauldron in my lunch break.”

She let out another ear-popping yawn. “Sounds good. Goodnight, George”

“Goodnight, love. Sweet dreams.”

She hummed quietly as she snuggled herself into his chest. She found it easier to fall asleep together in the bed rather than on the couch, but whether it was from the comfortable mattress or from the peace she’d made during their conversation, she couldn’t tell.

 


	13. Keep Your Eyes On A New Prize

George and Hermione had had an eventful Friday afternoon. After that Thursday evening where he’d crashed at her place for the night they’d developed a habit of going out for lunch every Friday during his lunch break. Their ritual had slightly deviated in this fourth week as he hadn’t actually had a lunch break; he’d taken the day off so the two of them could meet with one of the publishers Hermione had extensively researched. She’d been quite excited to meet Ms. Myler of M.L Books, the very same people who had published _Hogwarts: A History_. It was no surprise to him that Ms. Myler was enticed by the premise of the book considering no one but Rita Skeeter had had the nerve to publish anything other than the little-known facts the general public knew, either from rumours spreading or press releases from Shacklebolt in the weeks after the Battle.

Hermione had had the bright idea of not bringing the entirety of their work but instead bringing certain passages that she was comfortable sharing for the time being. He’d agreed with her of course, he hadn’t the foggiest about publishing or getting a deal or whatever the hell they needed to get this thing onto shelves. She’d had a hectic month, that girl; travelling all over Britain to get the final stories from people she needed, including the lovely Headmistress McGonagall and her sordid tales of how the Death Eaters had taken almost full control of Hogwarts during Ginny’s sixth year and arranging an interview with Minister Shacklebolt to discuss the rebuilding of the Ministry.

The thing that had stood out most to Ms. Myler was Hermione herself. She was practically drooling when Hermione told her that she had in fact interviewed Harry Potter and Ron Weasley for the book, Harry even wrote a section for the book about their time in hiding. That was one section Hermione didn’t bring and George figured out it was a power move when they arrived back at her flat. It was a promise that the book would be an instant success if they agreed to publish it for them. After a quick Floo call to her manager they were each given a copy of the agreement to read over and sign in the M.L Books offices on Monday.

To George the meeting had gone perfectly, they had gotten the deal, the could add pretty much anything to the agreement since the book would be snatched by any other publisher they went to, and they were earning a pretty knut in royalties for it. Well, he’d have to negotiate his price down a bit with Hermione, he wasn’t happy with an even split of the profits considering how much more work she had done than him. Eighty for her and twenty for him sounded better, considering that the “projected sales” that Myler had pulled out of her ass made it sound like Hermione could live off the royalties for quite a bit if she didn’t suddenly have a taste for the grand life. All they had to do was think of a title for the book that they both agreed on, and he had to figure out what the hell was wrong with Hermione.

Ever since they’d gotten back to her flat she had been distant and mopey. It wasn’t a state he enjoyed seeing her in, especially when every time he asked her to tell him what was wrong she’d clam up or walk away for a moment. She didn’t look her best when they went out for lunch before the meeting but he had chalked it up to nerves, but her energy seemed to have increased the closer they got to the offices and the more she listed books she’d read that they’d published. He honestly thought they had become quite close during the time they’d spent together and it hurt him to be so close and so far away from her at the same time. He was turning into such a bird, but that was the effect she had on him.

He had volunteered to cook her dinner during lunch and she had agreed, but he wasn’t so sure he was still wanted. She hadn’t said he should go so he didn’t leave, but it was very tense for him. He was second guessing everything he was doing again, something he thought he’d grown out of recently. There was no point asking her what had happened, she obviously wasn’t going to give him an answer. She’d tell him in her own time, right?

“What did you want to do with that lasagne, love? You’ve got enough for veggies or a salad.” he called out as he looked in her fridge. Dinner. That was a safe topic, right? Couldn’t cock that up. Well, he could, but no point thinking about that. There was a response from her living room that he couldn’t hear so he moved closer, leaning on wall as he begged per pardon.

“I said I’m thinking salad if you don’t mind. We could do vegetables but I don’t feel like them tonight.” She looked up at him from her where she was lying down on the sofa with her bare feet barely hanging off it. “You’ve certainly made yourself at home.” she said, nodding to the tea towel he’d thrown over his shoulder and his position against the wall.

“I’m more than happy to act the guest if you’d like to resume dinner?” he quipped, hoping to breathe life into the spark of humour she’d shown.

“What’s mine is yours.” she replied as she sank back down into the cushions and closed her eyes. He let out a short, hearty laugh as he headed back into the kitchen and got things out of her fridge and cupboards. It was true, he was making himself at home, but he’d been doing that for months now. There was no way she could get rid of him entirely – well, that was his plan, anyway.

The tea towel was tugged off his shoulder and he turned to see Hermione peer into the oven. She sighed as she opened the door and used it to take the trays out of the oven he’d started to preheat. “You always forget to take those out.”

“Well maybe you should cook me dinner one of these days, then we wouldn’t have to worry about that, would we?” he told her as he tapped her nose lightly as she put the tea towel on her own shoulder. He turned away to avoid the incoming slap to his arm.

“I’ve tried to cook nearly every time you’ve been here but you never let me!” She sounded annoyed so he turned around, but her façade was ruined with her small but cheeky smile.

“What can I say? You deserve to have someone waiting on you. Go relax, I’ll shout when dinner’s ready, yeah?” She didn’t move like he wanted her to so he bent down slightly to kiss her forward as he grabbed her shoulders. He straightened up while turning her around in his hands and guiding her out of the kitchen. “Go on.” he said with a shooing motion towards the couch. She sent him a glare but didn’t fight him and he grinned mentally at his win.

The problem with that, he discovered as he began chopping lettuce and dicing tomatoes, is that it made him question it. The Hermione he used to know back in his seventh year never would’ve let him get away with that sort of treatment. Had her stubbornness eased with age and less stress (and pranks), or was whatever was bothering her stopping her from being her true self? He nearly diced his finger off as he contemplated the question, stuck in an endless loop of whys and why nots. He was just happy he could steal a kiss to the forehead occasionally without getting his head ripped off; Ginny had advised him a fortnight ago to take things “really slow” until the book was finished, but that made him wonder what the hell she knew. Of course, Ginny already knew that he had feelings for Granger – he bet his entire family knew at this point. It wasn’t like he was hiding them exactly, but he was still being uncharacteristically cautious about it all. Did Ginny know that he’d spent the night in her bed, under the covers and holding her while she slept? He had no idea what Hermione had told her but he sure as shit hoped she didn’t know; it was a memory he enjoyed, a feeling of contentment and calm bliss washed over him every time he thought about it, and he couldn’t help but hope Hermione felt the same way.

When he served dinner he tried to be as ludicrous as possible by asking her outrageous questions and performing poor imitations of his family and various Hogwarts professors. The idea worked to an extent; she didn’t seem as melancholy as before, even joining in with some of the re-enactments he was acting out over the dinner table. It still ate away at him that she was upset though, upset and not comfortable sharing whatever was making her retreat inwards. He doubted he himself had done anything wrong, he would’ve been kicked out the door faster than he could ask why if it was his fault.

But how many times had he run to her when he was distraught? He’d woken her up in the middle of the night to ask if he could help her with the book, he’d scared her shitless when he’d Floo’d to her place while drunk off his ass – he hadn’t even meant to go, he’d just been thinking about her while moping over Fred. That memory was still a hazy fog anyway, but she assured him he hadn’t done anything particularly incriminating when he was with her. And how many times had he popped over unexpectedly just because he’d wanted to see her? Too many times to count, that was for sure. He’d always use an idea to write down as an excuse, but he was sure she could see through that like glass. He even rocked up at her place straight after his mind Healer meeting and fallen asleep on top of her! She’d done so much for him, staying with him as he rode out his emotions and battled the demons he’d rather forget, and now she was sitting back on the couch as he scrubbed the dishes by hand, refusing to seek him out the way he always managed to find his way to her.

He nearly dropped the glassware he was holding as he realised what it all meant. That she didn’t care for him as much as he did for her. That when everything was said and done like it nearly was, she’d be moving on in her life and would leave him behind.

He mentally scolded himself and his second guessing. Had he not been able to resist jumping into bed with her as she fretted he would leave after they were published? Had he not had to hold her and reassure her that he wouldn’t be going anywhere while she cried? If anything, they both wanted the other to stick around but for different reasons, her because she wanted a friend and him because he felt their connection ran deeper than friendship. That thought made him feel a little guilty, but he would always be her friend if she wanted nothing more, he was certain. Just like she had made lifelong friends after fighting a troll, you don’t just leave the person you poured out your heart and soul with.

That thought stuck with him as he started to dry the dishes, also by hand. _You don’t just leave the person you poured out your heart and soul with._ Maybe he’d include that in his thank you note to Hermione in the book. He’d always planned on doing one ever since he’d given her the flowers at the Burrow all those nights ago. That was a personal thank you to her for letting him in and giving him light in his dark thoughts, but in true George style he wanted something a bit grander to show the world just how grateful he was. It was one of the reasons he went to the meeting with the publisher with her, so he could get a read on their agent and speak privately to them and get them to put the note in the book without Hermione knowing until it was released. It wouldn’t be anything long, just short, heartfelt, and meaningful to let her know that he was forever indebted to her. He was sure she’d appreciate it. Actually…

With a quick flick of his wand to dry the rest of the dishes and another to send them back to their places he dashed to the living room. He stopped in the archway like he had earlier, but he wasn’t relaxed this time. She looked up from the sofa to greet him, but her words died on her lips as she examined him.

“You’re not gonna publish the book under your name, are you?”

She paled slightly under his stare and moved her limbs closer to her chest. He’d worked it out, then. She might hate it if she didn’t want people to know it was her writing the book. She made an offhand comment to him once or twice about writing the book in a way that no one would know whose perspective the book was from. He didn’t seriously think she was considering it until now, though. He’d even shared the thought with Ginny because he thought she was joking, but he watched as she fidgeted with the same damn blanket that she played with when she recommended seeing a mind Healer.

He ran a hand though his hair as he considered what to say. He didn’t want to offend her, but the girl was mental. How could she let an accomplishment like this slip away from her? After all the work she’d done, all the hours and tears and sleepless nights, she was just going to walk away from it all?

“What did Healer Reid say about that?” he asked, genuinely curious. If the Healer had said it was better to keep her name off of it he’d support her – he’d support her in anything – but she wanted her to be completely sure first.

“She, um. Well, she said either would work. It just depended on what I was comfortable with.” she said as she met his eyes for a split second before looking away again.

He sighed. “If you don’t want to talk about it right now we don’t have to, but I want to help you, love. You know that.”

Hermione took a deep breath before speaking. “I sort of…freaked out today, didn’t I?”

“You’ve been quiet,” he said as he moved to sit on the sofa next to her. “But I chalked that up to you being tired. What happened in the meeting? Do you not want to publish it anymore?”

“No, I do! I do, it’s just that I… well, you saw the way she looked at me when I said I had Harry and Ron’s help with some sections, that was disconcerting enough. But I think I freaked out when she put two and two together and realised who I was and what I was giving her. You heard her talking about how much money we’d make from this, but where would the money be coming from, the book or from our names? Having “Hermione Granger – War Hero” written in big golden letters isn’t the point of writing this, the point is to remember who we’ve lost, what we’ve lost, and how to stop it from happening again! I don’t want to be remembered for fighting, I, I wish it never happened!” she cried out before sucking in a loud gasp of air. He pulled her elbows towards her legs and pushed her forward, rubbing her back as she sucked in breath after breath. He’d done the same thing after Fred’s funeral and Bill had forced his head between his knees and forced him to take slow, deep breaths. He repeated the instructions to Hermione as he rubbed her back without changing his speed or technique.

It seemed to work. Her breaths were coming in slower now, but were still too loud for his liking. She sat up slowly and wiped at her eyes, but he couldn’t help but notice her pale skin and slack limbs. He leaned back into the sofa and held out an arm. It took her a while to notice his offer but as soon as she did she moulded herself against him. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck and rested his cheek on the top of her head, her soft but wild hair tickling his nose. He kept his hand on the back of her head, stroking the nape of her neck with his thumb until her breathing wasn’t quite so loud. Even when it did calm he still didn’t speak, instead he moved his hand to her arm and stroked the skin between her shoulder sleeve and her wrist.

“I’ll be turning twenty next month.” she said distantly. “I’d promised myself when I turned nineteen that if I didn’t get a job this year, I’d be handing out résumés on my birthday. Do you think writing a book counts as a job?”

“I’d say it does.” he said as he continued to stroke her arm. She hummed her agreement and pressed herself into his side more, snuggling herself into him for a lack of a better word. Not many words were coming to him at the moment, which he was fine with. He could tell this was the calm before the storm, the peaceful moment before he said something to cock up the night again. It wasn’t his intention to send her into a panic attack but he’d probably do it again if he wasn’t careful.

“Sorry about that, by the way. I don’t know what came over me.” she said as if reading his mind.

“Nothing to be sorry for, love. Things are overwhelming sometimes.” He shrugged as if proving his point, the motion causing her hair to move around his nose. She huffed in laughter as he lifted his cheek and flattened her hair and moved away from him, using the hair tie on her wrist to braid her hair sloppily. He grabbed his wand and attempted to turn off the electric lights but nothing happened. She chuckled as she pointed out a switch on the wall near the kitchen and walked over to turn it off. The only light left was her ever-present fire crackling merrily. She tried to return to her previous position against him but he turned her body and lay her head on his lap in a similar move to what she’d done for him once. She closed her eyes as his fingers scratched stray hairs into place, obviously enjoying the work he was doing.

“I am turning twenty soon, though.” she commented with her eyes still shut. “I haven’t exactly lead a typical teenage life, maybe apart from sixth year, and I just want to be ready to move on, yeah?” He agreed with her as he continued working on her thick hair. The less he said, the less chance he’d say the wrong thing. “I’ve said the same thing to Ginny, I want to be able to move on like a normal person. I want to _be_ a normal person. You saw how excited Ms. Myler was when we came back into her office. Her boss was probably thrilled with having us write a book for them, well, already have written a book for them they can just slap their brand on. And when she said that it was the best time to publish a book like this when people were starting to forget us as individuals, I realised that I wasn’t ready to give up my anonymity. I’m not saying I’m famous and people stalk me anymore or anything, but I’ve written my parts as impartially and unbiased as possible, and I’d like to think people reading might not be able to tell it was all coming from me if my name isn’t on it.”

He considered what she was saying. “Would you put a fake name on it or none at all?”

“A pseudonym, I think. That way you could still take credit for all the work you’ve done, I’d hate to see it not be recognised.”

“And now you know how I feel.” he muttered. He felt her tense up and she rolled over in his lap to face him, eyes opened wide.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he started. “that you have done so much to help so many people and creatures in your life, and put in so much hard work into making sure witches and wizards in the future can live happily and without prejudice, and you don’t want the recognition. You should get all the praise and recognition and love and happiness you deserve, even if you don’t want it. You’ll always get it from me, anyway. Me and the rest of us humble Weasley's.”

She smiled up at him with an expression he didn’t recognise on her features, putting her hand over the top of his that still rested on her cheek from when she turned over. She looked at him for half a moment too long before speaking again. “I appreciate that, George, I really do. But I’m worried about it all. There’s so much of my life in those words, but what if it’s not enough for people? What if they want to know exactly what we were hunting? What if they want things I’m not ready to share with them, things I’m barely able to think about still? If people know it’s me, they’ll know where to turn to get answers.”

Her eyes looked haunted as she looked away from him. It was a legitimate concern she had, and he did his best to help. “Okay, what about this. We don’t put your name on the book, we put a pseudonym. Not even my name. People will start to ask questions about who the author is and how they got coveted interviews and extracts and what have you from people who haven’t publically spoken about the War. People like Rita Skeeter will be jealous of what this author has done, the one thing people weren’t able to do, and some random person has up and done it. So, what will those people do then?”

“They’ll look for the author.” she muttered as reality seemed to hit her. She was turning pale again, but he was determined to finish his argument before he could lose track of his point.

“Exactly. What’s going to happen when someone discovers it was you, it was us? What happens when they want their questions answered then, huh? Rita Skeeter will have a field day with everything you’ve left out about the Horcruxes and your time on the run, not to mention all the illegal things you did during your years at Hogwarts. You know she has her own ways of finding out information and she’ll have a personal vendetta against you for taking her scoop and hiding yourself from people. I think, and this is just my personal opinion, but I think that if your name is on it from the beginning, you can avoid all of that. You can make a statement in the book that you’re happy with everything included and you won’t be revealing anything more until the time is right or you’re comfortable. You get to own it, rather than it coming 'round to own you. Do you get what I’m saying?”

She nodded, but there was a faraway look in her eye. She sat up suddenly, his hand dropping into the space between them. Her paleness was replaced by a flush of anger and he prepared himself mentally for retribution for whatever he said wrong.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this earlier?”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said, why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Why did you run to Ginny and tell her that I didn’t want my name on the book instead of talking to me about it?”

Her anger seemed off to him, like the argument was misplaced. “I caught up with Ginny one day at the shop and we just got to talking, and I made an offhand comment that you didn’t want your name on the book, that’s all. I didn’t think she’d tell you that.”

“Of course she told me! She was worried about me! I was nearly late home after I saw the three of them because I got held up explaining myself to her when she had no reason to be worried about me! Why did you have to tell her my problems?” She was yelling now, something he hadn’t had directed at him since his seventh year. He would’ve brought up the fond memories if he wasn’t so worried about her.

“Hermione, I didn’t even know it _was_ an actual problem until tonight. What’s gotten into you?”

“Gotten into me? Nothing’s gotten into me, I just don’t see why you need to share my personal business with everyone!” she huffed.

“I didn’t share it with “everyone”, I told my sister who worries about you without me telling her anything. You know how she is.”

“Why would she be worried about me? Just because I’m relying on Ministry handouts to live and haven’t even looked for a job since dropping out of school, it doesn’t mean I need to be worried about.”

She was yelling again, but George could tell she was a bit hysterical. She’d probably bite his hand off if he tried to touch her and hold her like he wanted to. He took a deep breath to calm himself down instead of rising to her bait. “Love, you did finish school. You just weren’t at school to finish it. And you did great in your studies, so don’t argue with me on that. You also had seven years of utter madness during your school years, so who gives a shit if you’re not working? What are people gonna say? “Oh, that Hermione Granger, saving our lives from the darkest wizard of our time, lounging around all day and working her ass off to write about it to make sure it doesn’t happen again? What a slag!” I call bullshit on that. Take three deep breaths and if you still want to argue with me, I’ll give you an argument. If not, we’ll talk like normal adults.”

She looked away from him and stewed in her anger for a bit. She tried to start her argument again, but he cut her off with an order for three deep breaths. She finally complied, taking about seven or eight before she turned back to him. When he looked at her he saw red eyes filled with tears and a trembling bottom lip. He waited for her to say something, to know it was alright to reach out to her again like he’d become so accustomed to. Instead of words she blinked, a tear falling down her cheeks as she did. Without thinking he slid an arm under her knees, the other around her back to hold her tightly, and scooped her into his lap. Her arms automatically went around his neck and she held on tight, legs wrapping around one of his as her torso rested on top of his. She was whimpering something into the cocoon she’d made with her arms and his shoulder, but he couldn’t hear it properly. George let her have the moment she desperately needed, breaking his heart to know that the strong woman in front of him was breaking down for no apparent reason.

Her tears stopped a few minutes later but he continued to rock her slowly. She yawned often and he felt a bit silly for holding her like a child but she didn’t object. Her hands would occasionally tighten around his neck as if she was thinking something unpleasant or reminding herself that he was still there, but he squeezed her back regardless of her reasons. She left her cocoon or arms and looked at him. The stray hairs he’d tucked away were wild again, glowing in the firelight. Her face was red and puffy and wet and her eyes looked so sad and lost, and it was all he could do to not put his hands on her face and kiss her until she felt as happy and loved as she made him feel. No, he resisted that urge but tucked a rather large clump of hair behind her ear instead, smiling wryly to himself. “Feel a bit better now?”

She smiled as she wiped her hands on her eyes. “You’d be surprised.” she replied with a watery laugh. “I’m sorry for picking a fight. I’m just…tired.”

“Of what?” he asked. She’d had a rollercoaster of emotions today, so picking out the one thing she was tired of was nearly impossible.

“No, I’m tired. Exhausted. I didn’t sleep last night.” She looked away as she said that, evidently guilty of the fact. He sighed and pulled her back to him, kissing the top of her head to stop himself from snogging her senseless like he wanted to. Thankfully the Weasley's were naturally touchy people, otherwise she would’ve worked out his moves the first time he’d done it. “I’m sorry, George. I would’ve told you this morning, but I didn’t want to cancel the meeting. It would’ve been rude.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he asked rhetorically.

“Oh, George, please don’t be mad.” she said as her arms tightened slightly around him again. He squeezed back to let her know he wasn’t angry.

“I just want you to be able to sleep through the night. Every night.” he cut her off before she could argue that she usually did sleep all night. It was one thing he hated, her insomnia. He’d have days where he could barely contain himself at work because he knew he’d see her in a few hours (thankfully that mood helped him sell more product and didn’t stand out), but as soon as he got to her place she was either asleep on her feet or actually asleep on the sofa. He’d always said she could Floo him during those nights and he’d stay up with her, but she didn’t like the thought of him not getting enough sleep for work. Of course, he could just close the shop for the day, but she’d never forgive herself if he did that because of their late nights. Instead she battled her insomnia alone even though he hated the fact.

“Have an early night, love. I can come over tomorrow and we can discuss names for the book, yeah? I’m tired of calling it “the book” anyway.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, stifling a yawn. He gave her a look that read “no shit” and she grinned sheepishly. “Do you want to stay for a bit longer or go now?”

“You go get changed and do your hair while I chuck the kettle on. Lemon and camomile?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. She got off of his lap gracefully and stretched, and he didn’t bother stopping himself from glancing at the patch of skin on her hip that was exposed during the motion. Her eyes were closed, anyway. She turned and opened her eyes when she was finished stretching without making any move to leave. He sent her a shoo-ing motion towards her bedroom door as he walked backwards into the kitchen. With a last good-natured glare she shut her bedroom door behind her, leaving him with his thoughts.

In all honesty, he was relieved that she was tired. He could chalk her strange behaviour of the day up to that without worrying too much about her when he got back to his lonely flat above the shop. He’d still worry about her of course, but it would be concern over her sleep habits rather than if he’d fucked everything up. He magically brought the water to a boil before steeping her tea the way he’d watched her do it and not giving a toss about how he made his.

By the time he finished the brew Hermione had emerged from her bedroom in familiar pyjamas and with a fresh face, still splotchy but fading gradually as she sipped her tea.

“Are you sure you don’t mind going home so early?” she asked with her hands wrapped around her cup and her back leaning against the bench.

“It’s either I go home early and let you sleep or I stay and you fall asleep anyway. Again.” he said pointedly, looking at her until she looked away in embarrassment.

“It was _one time_.” she groaned as he fought back his smile.

“It was twice, love. One time when we were writing, nay, when I was proofreading your writing, and once when we were in the middle of a conversation. It was incredibly rude.”

“I wasn’t asleep when we were talking! I just…lost track of the conversation.”

“Yeah, because you couldn’t hear me over your snores.”

“I do not snore!” she cried.

He couldn’t hide his beaming smile. “My love, you snore only when you sleep upright, but what a snore it is.”

She downed the rest of her tea in a few gulps after that. “That’s it, I’m sick of you. Go home.” she said as she took his empty mug from his hands and ran both under the tap for a few seconds.

“Fine, but I’ll be back tomorrow yeah? What time do you want me?”

“Whenever, I don’t mind – actually, any time after nine. I want to try and sleep in for a bit.”

“You think I want to be awake before eleven on a Saturday? For shame, love, for shame.”

She smacked him lightly on the arm as she walked past him to dry her hands on a tea towel. Once that was done she turned around and locked him in a tight hug. He reciprocated immediately, enjoying the way she leant her head against his chest. “Thank you for coming today, George; I really appreciate it.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, love. And whether or not you put your name on the book, I’ll support you either way, yeah?”

She looked up at him from in his arms with the same foreign expression from earlier. It would’ve been easy for him to tilt his head down and capture her lips in his, to show her how much he’d support her through the publishing, through the crowds of people she worried about, through life itself, but he hung onto a measly spec of self-restraint and reigned himself in. He didn’t bother fighting the need to kiss her in general though, planting a quick kiss to her hairline. Any longer and his self-restraint would’ve burst.

“Go get some sleep, love. And Floo me if you need anything. I mean it.”

She nodded and broke the hug. His arms felt cold and empty, but it was a feeling he’d long since become accustomed to. She bid him goodnight from her doorway as he walked to the fireplace and he wished her sweet dreams as she shut the door behind her. He didn’t bother to do anything but change clothes and get into bed when he arrived at his stale and cold flat, because anything he would’ve tried to do would be tainted with thoughts of Hermione. At least the dream version of him got to experience the soft kisses and shy smiles. 

 

* * *

 

 

He awoke to a green light pulsing around his bedroom and his wand shaking on the nightstand. His sleep-addled brain tried for what seemed like an age to remember what it meant, and it slowly clicked that someone had activated his Floo and Hermione’s charm had alerted his wand. He hadn’t had anyone try and Floo in during the night before and he barely remembered the movements for the name spell. After a failed attempt or two he cast _nomen revalare_ correctly, the pulsing and shaking wand in hand now sprouting green smoke out of the tip that formed the words _Hermione Granger._

He removed the duvet and blankets that had pooled around his waist hastily as he grabbed yesterday’s shirt from the night before. If it was an emergency he wanted to be fully dressed for it. He made his way across the room, barely avoided stubbing his toes on various pieces of furniture in the process. He made it to the fireplace in time to watch her fire-green eyes look over him and flash with guilt.

“S’wrong, love?” he asked sleepily. She didn’t look afraid or panicked, so he allowed his body to relax.

“I’ve been awake for about an hour and I can’t fall back asleep. I wouldn’t have woken you but I feel like I’m suffocating in this flat. Can I come through for a bit?” she asked with wide eyes and the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Of course, love, come through. D’you want tea?” he asked as he stepped back to let her though. His exhaustion wasn’t mirrored on her own face – she looked awake and alert. “How long did you sleep?”

“Oh, I got a good hour or so in, it took me a while to sleep but when I did it was terrible. I haven’t had nightmares since we were camping and now it’s been twice in…” She broke off as she noted his expression. She told him she didn’t sleep the night before last, not that she’d had nightmares.

“What are they about?” he asked as he looked her over. Her hair was a frizzier mess than usual and she looked vaguely out of place standing in his flat in pyjamas. She was shivering too.

“Just…stuff. Last night it was about the horcruxes like they used to be, but this time it was….well, it was Rita Skeeter. Not just her, though, it was a whole bunch of reporters following me around and trying to break into my house because I hadn’t told them all my secrets. Doesn’t take a psychologist to figure that one out.” she said and smiled wryly.

He couldn’t help but feel the nightmare was his fault. He was the one who’d given her the visual of reporters coming after her after all. “The kettle should have enough water in it, have you got your wand? Good, go heat up the water and I’ll get some blankets.”

“Oh no, no, I’m okay, you go back to sleep. Ginny’s away in Portugal or something, I couldn’t go see her. Can I just hang around here for a bit? I’ll be as quiet as possible, I promise.”

“Was Ginny really your first choice?” he asked, not knowing why he did. Hermione was his first choice, she had been his first choice since that drunken night months ago.

“Not really, I just felt like I needed an excuse for waking you.” she said honestly.

He smiled broadly as her words registered in his foggy mind and gave her a quick hug. “Go heat the kettle, I’ll get the blankets.” he said with a quick kiss to the top of her head, leaving the room quickly after so she couldn’t argue. He grabbed all the many blankets from his bed (he loved being warm, what could he say?) and folded them quickly before heading back into the lounge. He must’ve been slower than he thought because Hermione was headed for the lounge as well.

“Why do you have so many blankets?” she asked as she eyed the tall pile in his hands wearily.

“I like blankets.” he shrugged as he put them on the floor next to the bright yellow couch. It was his favourite piece of furniture in the flat, he liked the way it looked alive when the firelight bounced across it. He grabbed the warmest blanket from the pile and threw it over her shoulders; the girl was only wearing a tank top and was still shivering.

“Thanks.” she said as she sipped her tea. He grabbed another blanket from the pile and draped it over his own shoulders, then grabbed the largest one he had to manoeuvre over both of them. After a moment to adjust to the new warmth she yawned into her cup, smiling as she did. “That’s the first time I’ve yawned in two hours.”

“I thought you said you’d been awake for an hour?” he said as he took a sip of his own tea. Somehow she’d worked out his favourite mug even though she rarely came to his place.

She put her half empty mug down on the red coffee table in front of them and held the blankets closer to her. “I thought it had only been an hour until I saw the clock in the kitchen.”

“What time is it?”

“Just past one. And I am sorry for waking you, I wouldn’t have if it was just another sleepless night.”

“I’ve already invited you here more times than I can remember, so there’s nothing to apologise for, in fact I’m glad you’re here. I’ve practically moved into your place anyway, it’s about time you invaded my home.”

“You’re glad I woke you up?” she asked doubtfully.

“I’m glad you’ve got someone to turn to when you need them. It just so happens you’ve got someone as devilishly handsome as me to go to.” he said with a wink.

The smile she gave him in return was sad. “For now, at least.” She said gloomily as she picked up her mug again and sipped at it.

He was confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that when you go out and find someone to date you won’t always be around, will you?” She seemed to consider what she said and cringed into her mug. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from. I must be more tired than I feel.”

“If I’m shacking up with some mysterious bird she’s either going to accept our friendship or get lost. I’ve already told you I’m not going anywhere. I hope you feel the same about whatever bloke you’re going to make lamingtons for next.” It hurt him somewhere in the chest to even picture her with some faceless sod, but he said it anyway.

It seemed to cheer her up, which was the intention. “You’re the only one I’d give food poisoning to, George. No need to worry there.” And for once, he didn’t have to swivel her around or beckon her to him; no, this time she came on her own accord, bringing her blankets with her as she curled up into his side, lifting his arm to let herself in. Thankfully her head was leaning on his shoulder and her eyes were closed, otherwise she would’ve seen the crazy beam he sent down to her. Who gave a flying fuck about some random bird? This was who he wanted, this is what he needed. The two of them together, helping each other in their own private ways. He finally had the light permanently back in his eyes, the light he’d been so jealous of out next to the shed at the Burrow when he was a bumbling fool giving her flowers. Now he was still a fool, but a crazy and utterly mad fool for the girl yawning in his arms.

“Stay over tonight.” he said without thinking. It felt right to say it though, so he didn’t regret it.

“Just give me a minute and I’ll head off, okay? The tireder I am when I leave the quicker I’ll fall asleep when I get home.” she said as she burrowed herself closer to him, tickling his neck with her loose hair as she did.

“You’re exhausted, love; tireder isn’t a word. Stay with me tonight, before I shack up with some bird.”

He was joking of course, but she looked up with him with a mix of tiredness and confusion. “That makes it sound like _things_ are going to happen, George.”

“I have only the purest intentions at heart, my love. Sleep and sleep only. You’re here already, what were you gonna do? Visit me for a bit and head back home? C’mon, you said it yourself, you’re suffocating at your place. Crash here tonight and I’ll make pancakes in the morning.”

She looked at him sceptically as she thought over his offer. His tiredness hit him like a wave as he let out a full body yawn, stretching his arms and curling his toes. He decided to give her a moment to think it over as he walked to the kitchen with the mugs instead of banishing them. He knew it was hard enough for her to ask for help for something like this, he had taken her what, almost two months to accept his offer to come over if she couldn’t sleep? Hermione liked plans and thinking out things, but at the moment he was too tired to care, all he wanted was to fall asleep with her in his arms again.

“George?” The quiet call lured him out of the kitchen to look at her. She was mid yawn and looked quite fit under all the blankets. “I’ll stay here tonight if you’re completely sure, but I’ll stay on the couch. Thanks for let-”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, love. I don’t snore and I barely kick.”

She held the blankets closer to her. “It’s okay, I just want to sleep. Go back to bed, alright? Get your sleep in.”

With a roll of his eyes he walked over to where she was sitting, looped an arm around her back and the other under her knees and hoisted her up so he was holding her securely. She cried out at the surprise manoeuvre and put her arms around his neck to stop herself from falling. “George Weasley, put me down right now! I am not a child!”

He simply held onto her tighter as he grabbed his discarded blanket to take with them. Apparently his silence wasn’t good enough for her as she demanded to know why he was carrying her. “I carried you last time and it worked, so I’m testing it again. Have to thoroughly test theories, as you well know.”

“Just put me…put me down. I can walk to a bed.” she said, a massive yawn taking over her. He wasn’t wrong about testing things thoroughly and was pleased to note that his and Ron’s new range of Drifting Draughts seemed to work just as well in tea form as they did in liquid. He’d have to tell Ron when he woke up tomorrow, and if it was one thirty now, he’d probably be awake at twelve considering he’d taken the extra strong batch home. He kept that information to himself though; Hermione didn’t need to know she’d drugged herself with the potion she’d inspired.

“Nonsense, love; you’re quite comfortable to carry.” he said as he reached his bedroom. He was barely home nowadays which was good, the place wasn’t a mess. He put her down next to the bed and folded the blankets she took off her shoulders. She crawled into the bed but she noticed his hesitation.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“D’you mind if I take my shirt off? I hate sleeping with them on.” He could survive for one night he supposed as he crawled into the bed without waiting for an answer. It was a struggle just to get her here, there was no way in hell she was going to say-

“It’s fine, it’s your home.”

Well then.

She yawned and rolled over, taking a good portion of the duvet with her. While she was facing away (which she most likely did on purpose) he divested himself of his shirt and slipped into the bed next to her.

“You slept in a shirt at my place.” she said into the darkness. He was really falling under the Drifting Draught so it took him a moment to register her words.

“Be a bit strange for me to be half naked in your flat, wouldn’t it? Although, if you wanna see it next time, all you have to do is ask.” She tried to hit him but couldn’t reach properly with her back to him. He grabbed her flailing hand instead, entwining his fingers with hers and resting their joined hands near her stomach, the rest of his body curling up against her.

“S’alright.” she agreed. She let out another yawn and pulled his arm closer around her, moving it from her stomach to under her chin. It honestly felt like something from one of his (not-dirty) dreams, her warm body flush against his and her wild hair creating patterns on his plain pillows. He was very grateful Hermione had used the prototype teabags, he knew for a fact he wouldn’t have been able to sleep like this normally.

She mumbled something that sounded like “you’re comfortable” and he smiled into the darkness. “You should come over more often then.” he mumbled back, but there was no retort as her breaths had already evened out, two day’s worth of sleeplessness and exhaustion finally catching up to her. He kissed the back of her head, smelling her shampoo even as he moved back.

“Sweet dreams, love.”


	14. 5:40 Of Dramatic Music

Chapter Fourteen – 5:40 of dramatic music

 

"Ange? Oi, Johnson!"

Angelina Johnson turned around in the busy street and tried to find the source of the noise. The crowd parted around her as they walked on while she stood still, and she finally caught sight of a mess of flaming hair rushing towards her. The tall man linked his arm through hers and dragged her into a side street, shouting apologies to the crowd as they cut them off.

"How've ya been, Johnson? Hope I haven't taken you away from anything important." George said, looking like he couldn't care less if he had.

"I'm supposed to meet my dad for lunch, but I'm early. Haven't been around here in a long time." she commented, looking around fondly at the buildings she used to stroll past as a girl.

George looked at her in interest as he sat down on an empty bench. "I take it Quidditch is still treating you well?"

She joined him on the bench. "Haven't been killed yet, so yeah, it's going alright." She had been accepted into the Montrose Magpies as a reserve nearly as soon as she graduated and had quickly earned a Chaser position on the team. She'd played for them for the past two years, the only break she'd had apart from seasonal breaks was a two week suspension for returning to Hogwarts for what they called the Final Battle, and even then that was to make sure she was still physically capable to play. She didn't set out to become a national player but she couldn't pass up the opportunity Oliver Wood had set up for her. No, instead she wanted to become a tattoo artist, but that wasn't something she wanted to share with anyone at the moment. Her dad would be so disappointed if he found out she was considering giving up Quidditch so early in her career. "What are you up to today?"

"Just grabbing a take-out lunch." he said cheerfully. She hadn't really thought about George over the past few years and whenever she did it was usually in the memories that still haunted her, those where they were all mourning over Fred's body in the Great Hall or during his funeral on a sunny hill near Hogwarts. The George in her memories was empty and broken, but this George was… well, happy. Happier than she would've expected.

"You look really good, George." she said, trying to keep the faint trace of pity out of her voice.

"Oh Ange, you flirt." he said mischievously. She didn't bother to do anything but roll her eyes. "I know what you mean, I've been alright. I've been shit, but I'm getting better, slowly but surely. Even seeing a mind Healer, y'know. Things are starting to look up again."

She had missed how chipper he and his brother used to be and it was refreshing to be around the unwavering confidence again, even if she felt a little awkward without Fred there. "If you're just doing take-out for lunch you can always dine with me and Dad; he loves your work in the shop."

"I'll have to take a raincheck on that, Johnson; gotta get Hermione fed."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Hermione Granger? George and Hermione? Together? How much had she missed while on the road?

"I didn't know you two were-"

"We're not." He cut her off. "We actually just finished writing a book together, believe it or not."

"You're having a laugh." she said. "George Weasley, the boy who I not once saw open a textbook for _seven years_ , wrote a book?"

He took her disbelief in stride. "I've been getting that reaction a lot recently, I think we're gonna have to change the cover of the book to read "by Hermione Granger and George Weasley; yes, George Fabian Weasley." Has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"

"What's it about?" She was genuinely curious.

"It's about the War, really. Not much else to it. It's a lot of what she and Ron and some Harry bloke did for seven years, but a lot of it is showing what went wrong and how, and she wants it to be a reminder that some bad shit has gone down and we can't let it happen again. And about what we've all started to do in the future and the new world and how we're all gonna keep it safe. It sounds dumb when I say it, but when you read what she's done you're blown away. She's put so much work into it to make it factual and emotional and unbiased and just overall incredible. I've chucked a few pages in here and there but yeah, Hermione's a genius."

"And you said you're not together?" she repeated.

"We are not." he reaffirmed jovially.

She let out a whistle. "You've got it bad, man."

He grinned. "I do indeed. Don't tell anyone though, Ginny said I have to take it slow."

Her eyebrows shot up again. "Ginny knows? Why can't I tell anyone if Ginny knows?"

"Because dearest Ginevra worked it out, that's why. Couldn't hide it from her if I tried. Whatever you do, don't tell Lee, alright? He doesn't need to know yet."

"Yeah, alright." She agreed with him because he was starting to look less confident and more worried. "That raincheck on lunch will have to wait a while, the season starts up again soon and I won't be able to get back home for a while. Are you sure you don't want to come? Hermione can come too if she wants."

"Nah, I'll head back, Johnson, but we'll keep in touch. Would you prefer tested prototypes or standard products with your letters?"

She grinned. "Tested prototypes if you're got enough for me to prank the whole team. I know the Campbell brothers are both partial to Jaffa cakes if you've got any jokes with those involved." she mentioned casually. She watched as his eyes lit up the way they used to when he or Fred had worked out a solution to whatever problem was stumping them.

"Jumbling Jaffas…the cacophonic cakes! Johnson, I could kiss you!"

"I'd rather you send me some, but I honestly have no idea how you pull some of those words out of thin air." she said with a smile at his delighted air. She handed him a pen she kept on her for the odd autograph and he wrote the words on his hand.

"We used to look up bad words in the dictionary, Fred and I. 'Course we didn't actually know many so it was a lot of reading. Some words just sound good and stick in your brain."

She stood up from the bench as she tucked the pen back into her pocket. "The only book you've read back to front is the dictionary. George Weasley, you are full of surprises. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Johnson. We'll have to round the old team up again one of these days and meet at a dingy pub somewhere, won't we?" She nodded her agreement as he stood up too. He wrapped his arms around her for a quick hug. "I promise I'll owl you those cakes as soon as I perfect them. Or maybe not. How close are you to the Campbell brothers?"

"They treat me like a sister, I could get away with murder." she laughed.

"Perfect." he replied. "I'll send you the prototypes of the prototype. Have a fun lunch with your dad."

"I will, have a fun lunch with your girlfriend."

"Not my girlfriend yet!"

"At least you're confident." she said as he began to walk away. "Hey, Weasley!" she called out before he was too far away. He turned around before entering the crowd. "What's the book called?"

"It's called What We Lost, I'll send you a copy when it's out!"

 

* * *

 

 

"Sorry I'm late, love, but you'll never guess who I ran into in the Alley."

She looked up from her couch. She'd been bored waiting for him and set out plates and cutlery to make their rather unhealthy take-out look more appetising which he looked at with approval. "Was it Ron?"

"Ron? Of all the people…I see him every day, why would I be excited about Ron?"

"Because he's not supposed to be on lunch yet? I don't know, you said guess and I guessed."

He shook his head at her and sighed. "No, no, think Quid ditch players."

"Hogwarts Quidditch players or national Quidditch players?" she asked as she took one of the bags from him and started setting out lunch. He only had about half an hour left considering he took so long to get lunch.

"Both." he said, excitement taking over him. "It was Angelina Johnson, the one and only, strolling down Diagon Alley as if she'd forgotten about me."

"I doubt she'd forgotten about you." she said with a smile. His excitement was contagious. "I haven't seen her since...well, I don't remember the last time I saw her. What's she up to?"

"She was getting lunch somewhere in the Alley but we talked for a bit before she headed off. Sorry for being late by the way, we got to talking before I got to the Leaky."

"How long is she back for?" she asked between bites of her food.

"Just today by the sounds of it. She invited me to go to lunch with her too, so she might only be back for a few hours. Tough life for those Quidditch stars."

"She invited you to lunch?" she asked with a frown. "Why didn't you go?"

"Because you would've gone hungry, love. Can't have that on my hands."

She sighed heavily as she put down her fork. "It's Monday, George. Your mother is going to force me to eat enough food to tide me over until tomorrow afternoon, you know that. Besides, I am quite capable of taking care of my own meals – I do live on my own."

"Barely." he said with a mouthful of food. She pulled a face at the sight and he grinned, swallowing his food before speaking again. "And I like seeing you at lunch, it makes the day go quicker."

"I'm sure the day would've gone just as quick if you had lunch with Angelina. When was the last time you'd spoken to her?"

"In person? Not since the funerals, but we did used to owl each other until I stopped replying. It was a bad time for me." He shrugged as if to say it wasn't his fault – which it wasn't – but she still felt uncomfortable.

"You should've sent me a message or something, you need to see your friends."

"Good thing I came back then, hey?"

"You see me nearly every day!" she argued.

"And it still doesn't feel like enough sometimes!" he countered. "Honestly, it just sounds like you want me to go."

She honest to Merlin couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but she sincerely hoped he was. "You know I don't want you to go, but your life doesn't revolve around me either."

"Who gives a shit?" he asked as he skewered some food onto his fork. "The whole point of winning the war was to live free lives and be happy, that's what Healer Willems has been telling me. Writing letters to Johnson made me happy, sending her prototypes of jokes and pranks will make me happy. Seeing you after waiting all morning is making me happy right now. I've got the rest of my life to catch up with Ange and Oliver and the rest of the old Quidditch team, Ange and I agreed we need to organise that whenever everyone can meet up, but in the meantime? All I want to do is sit with you and eat my noodles before I have to go back to work and wait until dinner to see you again. Is that alright with you?"

She sat in stunned silence. They'd really become dependent on each other, hadn't they? She guessed she should've seen it coming - he was only a thought away these days, and they'd slept together a few times. Slept, not _slept_. That was one thing she had to keep her wandering mind away from on more than one occasion. If she went down that road in her mind he'd be able to read it on her face in a heartbeat, and what sort of teasing would that lead to then? She'd never live it down.

Although…maybe there wouldn't be any jokes. Hadn't he just said he'd be waiting to see her all morning? Had he not skipped lunch with one of his oldest mates to stay with her? Ginny had told her George was "absolutely smitten" with her and she'd brushed it off like the joke she thought it was, but…what if it wasn't? She'd told Ginny she wouldn't go for a relationship with anyone (but they both knew she meant George) because she wanted to put her life back together. She was still interested in Ginny's idea for a wizarding kindergarten as absurd as the idea was, and she could always go to muggle university first to have something to fall back on, but did ideas count as moving on? Could George himself be considered moving forward?

"Love? You alright?" His voice was full of concern and his eyes matched. She looked at him, really looked at him, and felt a sense of release take over. He was right, who gave a shit? Her goal in life used to be keep Harry and Ron alive, defeat a dark wizard, get her N.E.W.T's, and live her life in a free world. She'd done everything but the last; it was harder for her to do than she thought it would be. Living her life used to mean studying and learning and improving herself, but what did all that matter if she wasn't happy or content? She knew George's life didn't revolve around hers and hers didn't revolve around his, but when they were together she felt what she used to dream about while on the run, excitement and love and happiness and possibilities that she could explore to her hearts content. Her dreams usually had those feelings coming from within her, but did it matter if someone else was there to support her?

"You're scaring me, Hermione. I'm sorry, okay? Next time I'll go to lunch with Ange."

"No, George, that's not it. I'm just…" She trailed off, not knowing how to finish. What was she? She felt the same as when she did when it hit her that there was no more fighting to be done and they'd won. It was a mix of relief, of hopes and dreams and the end of an era. But this wasn't then end, she was hoping it was the beginning.

"Just what?" he pressed, looking for an answer she couldn't give him.

She shrugged instead of telling him he felt like hope to her, because that sounded terrible even in her own head. "I don't know, but if you're happy, I'm happy. And you have to promise me you'll write her."

"'Course I will, love, I've gotta send her a batch of Jumbling Jaffas! Remember how I told you about that that potion I made, the one that…"

She listened with interest as he went on about his new and brilliant creations until it was time for him to relieve Ron at the shop. She even gave her own suggestions about how to make the potion tasteless so the receiver wouldn't be tipped off at first, which George added to the writing on his hand to try at work. "Y'know, if you really want a job you could always apply for WWW." he joked.

"I'll explore my other avenues first, thanks." she joked back.

"I'm just a last resort to you, aren't I?" He grinned as he said it, but it made her feel uncomfortable.

"You? No. The shop? Maybe." His grin transformed into a beam with that, and it made her uneasy heart flutter. "Besides, I still would like to research a magical kindergarten, even if nothing came of it. It would be a good idea if there was enough interest from parents for that sort of thing. Not exactly typical in the wizarding world, is it?"

"No, but muggleborns and those raised with muggles would probably have an interest." he agreed. "You never really explained the premise to me, but I have to run. I'll see you at Mum and Dad's yeah?"

"If you close up early enough you can always come here first, especially if you get the Jaffa cakes ready."

He turned around after banishing the dishes to her kitchen with bright eyes. "You want to be a taster?"

"If it's very diluted; I'm not going to dinner if I can't speak."

"Deal." He held out a hand for her to shake and she took it hesitantly, wondering what the hell she'd gotten herself into. Why did she have to invite him over? Why _did_ she invite him over? She would've seen him later that night. "D'you mind if I Apparate out?"

"Not at all." she said. Her voice was quiet for no obvious reason. "Bye, George."

"Until tonight, love." He kissed the hand he was still holding and let go a second later, Apparating away with a loud pop.

 

* * *

 

 

She told herself she was getting into dangerous territory with George ages ago, but now she was realising that it was right where she wanted to be.

"First thing first, I need you to say two sentences that you'll repeat after eating the biscuit. Pick one that's short and sweet and one that's longer than the first. Try and use a variety of words if you can."

George had returned with a box of Jumbling Jaffas after changing out of his work clothes that evening. He'd tested them at work of course, he wouldn't give something so unpredictable to anyone, let alone Hermione. He'd had the potion for the cakes for a few months so it had technically been tested already, but he'd learnt the hard way that pairing potions and food could end in disaster. One time, he'd added the 'nosebleed' part of the Nosebleed Nougat to a simple jam donut just to see what would happen (plus he liked the visual of finishing off a jam donut and then looking down to see "jam"), and it had taken seven purple antidote candies just to stop the bleeding.

"Alright then; My name is Hermione Granger. I am interested to see if the cacophonic cakes will impediment my speech. Is that enough?"

"Yeah that's perfect. Help yourself to one of the cakes and don't speak until I tell you." he directed as he wrote down what she'd said. He'd tried his own tests with a self-writing quill but it wrote different words to what he was trying to use. She finished eating the cake and he gestured for her to speak, so she did.

"My name is Hermiogne Frendgar. Mie arm krensristed to see if tlue tapheonic paeokes dils bincrewdiemont mar skreetch."

"That's brilliant." he said with a grin as he (attempted to) write down her speech. He wasn't surprised that she'd broken free of the potions hold for a moment, it was very diluted. "How do you feel?"

"Mie derk hine." she said, nonchalant. He was struggling to hold back his laughter, he'd never heard her sound anything less than eloquent except for when she was half asleep.

"Can you hear the words you're saying or do they sound normal?"

"Fey thoand quormel. Shwourd fey sound normal?"

"Pardon me?"

"I said they sounf mornal and should they sound normal – Oh, I think it's worn off now."

"What makes you say that?" he asked in interest.

"My tongue, it feels… heavier? I didn't realise it felt so light until it was back to normal."

"That's how I felt too," he said as he scribbled down what she'd written. "And you're not supposed to know you sound different, that's the point. I'm glad you couldn't tell if it was working, it'll be even better when people are given them without knowing." He finished his notes and looked up at her. "Thanks for volunteering by the way. Saves Ron from being my guinea pig."

"Right, well, you're welcome." she said with a slight stammer. She didn't look away exactly when he met her eyes with raised eyebrows, but she certainly didn't keep eye contact for long. What was going on there?

"Dinner's in a half hour, did you wanna head to the Burrow now or wait for a bit?"

She paused for a moment before deciding to wait a bit if that was alright with him. He told her sure, doesn't worry him, but he didn't tell her that he was relieved he didn't have to share her for a while longer.

It was strange not having the book as something to do anymore. If they had an half hour like this to kill before Hermione would've been all over it, giving him things to check for grammatical errors or to add his own thoughts on the topic. Now with the book sent to an editor it felt taboo to talk about, like everything would fall apart if it was mentioned and all their work would be for nothing. That's how he felt, anyway. He knew her well enough by now to know that it was most likely on her mind too.

"Explain to me this pre-Hogwarts school thing Ginny got you so excited about. Who's it for?"

"Oh, it would just be for whoever needed it, I think. I guess it wouldn't be a kindergarten, it would be like tutoring, I guess? In my head it's a place that's relaxing and stimulating and makes kids want to learn rather than being stuck in a castle and having no choice but to learn – not that Hogwarts wasn't amazing, it was, but it could be quite suffocating."

"Should've snuck out with us." he said wistfully.

"Suffocating for people that _studied_." Hermione added.

"I studied!" he said indignantly. "I didn't fail, did I?"

"I suppose not." she said sarcastically as he sent her a grin. It, or something in her head, made her freeze up, and she averted her gaze. Something was up tonight, and he wanted to know before things were weird at dinner and he got cornered by Ginny.

He tried to get her to forget whatever was in her head. "Your school thing, would it have terms? Year levels? Are you starting a whole new system of education? You could do it, y'know. I think you're the only person I know who _could_."

Hermione smiled at that. "I'm not starting wizarding primary school, that would be ridiculous. You learnt your basic reading and writing from your Mum, correct?"

"Yep, but we had Bill and Charlie's help a lot of the time. Mum was busy with two other babies after us. And Dad pitched in a lot, too."

"But you come from a very big family." she pressed. "And your mum didn't work. Not that that's a bad thing, but she didn't spend a lot of time away from her kids. This would be more for parents that can't afford that one-on-one time with their children and to make sure they're all up to par with their peers who have that advantage, but they'd be coming for a few hours a day for a few days a week." She frowned to herself. "I'm not making sense, am I?"

"Sure you are. Kids need to learn somewhere, you're giving them a place to learn. It wouldn't be as structured as Hogwarts, would it? Not for young kids?"

"Oh Merlin, no." she agreed. "People wouldn't want to send their kids to school earlier than they have to, this would be a place for learning though doing, with toys and games and that sort of thing. And I bet I could get them up to fourth year muggle studies in under a year if the environment was set up near Muggles. We could have electricity and pens and fridges and _television_ , oh my gosh I would love to show kids a television. Teddy absolutely adores it when he gets to watch one. This is why it's exciting, because there's so much wizards don't know about Muggles and don't care to learn, plus it would be good for wizard-muggle relations, wouldn't it?"

The earlier hesitancy was gone, replaced by enthusiasm and determination and a great dash of adventure. It was perfect for her, really. "I can't wait to see it in action, love."

She laughed lightly. "It'll take years to set up, George, not a month or two."

"Who cares? I still can't wait."

He heard her breath hitch almost silently. "You're going to be around that long?" she asked, closing her eyes as her voice squeaked a bit. What the hell was going on with her? She'd been acting off since he'd arrived, like she was nervous or something. What the hell would she be nervous about? Testing the product? She'd done that, it wore off within a minute, he'd tested it before he arrived to make sure of it. What else would it be?

And why the buggering hell was she asking if he was going to stick around? His life didn't revolve around hers, but she sure as fuck made it easier to get through the days. They might hang around each other as much, they might not, but she was his ladder out of the hole of despair he'd unknowingly dug himself into for the past few years. Everything he'd avoided and dodged over the years with experimenting in the back of the shop and copious amounts of Firewhisky was coming to light in a safe environment, an environment that had no mirrors or alcohol to get him through the nights he woke up in. Their work was done for now and he still felt he could tell her anything ( _almost anything_ , he reminded himself) without ridicule or question, he could still feel the comfort and familiarity they both still needed from time to time, and she thought he was willingly going to _leave_ it?

"Where'd you think I'd be going?" he asked, breaking the silence he'd built up unintentionally.

"I don't know," she said, playing with her short and filed nails. "You've talked about expanding the shop but you never said when. Or where. And you might find…nevermind."

"Find what?" he asked, amused. He knew where this was going. "What am I finding, love?"

"Nothing, forget I said it." she murmured, not looking at him.

"Is this about my mysterious bird you were going on about on Friday?"

He was glad her hair was in a braid, otherwise he would've missed the brilliant sight of her face changing colours faster than Ron's ears. He didn't understand why she was blushing exactly, but it was cute. "It is, isn't it? Hope I get to meet her soon, she sounds delightful."

She shot him a glare, the effect completely ruined with her pink cheeks. He would've rubbed his knuckles into her hair like he did to rouse Ginny up but her hair was pulled back and she'd have to redo it; instead he crossed his arms and slid down the sofa until he was halfway off it. "Honestly love, I don't know how many times I have to tell you; if Mysterious Bird pops up someday and demands me to romance her she'll know that we're a package deal. Same as me and the shop, if she doesn't like jokes and fireworks and pranks then we're probably not gonna work out."

"I guess that makes sense." she mused as her face slowly returned to a neutral shade.

"What about you?" he said, slightly nervous. "What if some bloke comes in and sweeps you off your feet? You still gonna have time for me?"

"You've already swept me off my feet numerous times."

And just like that, Hermione's face was back to a brilliant shade of red. The sunset would've been jealous of her radiance had it still been lingering in the air. George wanted to laugh at her feelings of awkwardness but a sense of being trapped in a glass box that was filling with water had taken over him.

"I meant, like, because you've carried me to bed, that's all." She distracted herself with the damn throw blanket again, twiddling the fraying tassels she used as a distraction from him, from _them_.

The sense of water rising had reached his stomach, sending it surfing on a perilous journey of unpredictable endings. It felt of dread, of hope, of imagined scenarios and lingering dreams and the future and he felt it all at the same time, bubbling up inside his lungs and his heart and repeating in his head until he could hold in the months of longing no longer.

"Hermione, are you there?"

They both jumped at the voice, George nearly falling off the sofa entirely. He was lying down on it trying to calm his erratic heart as Hermione went to answer the Floo call.

"Ginny, hi, what's wrong?" she said in a rush.

"Mum wants to know if you're coming for dinner, she's serving up in ten."

Hermione turned and looked at the clock above her head. "Oh my gosh, I lost track of time. Tell Molly I'll be there after I get changed."

"No worries; hey, is George here? He hasn't made it to dinner yet and Ron said he left the shop early."

"Oh! Um, um, he's not-"

"Yes I am." He cut off, sitting up on the couch and waving to a fire-green Ginny. "Took a nap, that's all. We'll be there soon."

"I bet you took a 'nap' you slag!" Ginny called out, which wasn't exactly necessary as he could hear her disbelief loud and clear. "Get cleaned up and head over in the next ten minutes or everyone else will know what you've been up to."

"We didn't do anything!" Hermione cried but it was too late, Ginny's head had disappeared from the fireplace.

George paid no mind to how her hand ran down her face a moment before she declared she was getting changed and he should Floo over. His hands were on his knees, probably digging crescents into his skin under the fabric of his pants with the force he couldn't reign in. She emerged from her bedroom a minute later and pulled the hair tie out of her hair, running her fingers through it to unwind the pattern. She must've noticed him still sitting on the couch at that moment because she called out his name. He didn't reply and she stepped closer, standing at the side of the sofa and looked at him.

"George, are you alright?" she asked, stopping herself from playing with her hair as she looked at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. He was neck deep now, barely able to keep his head above the rising emotions that he had fought for months now. He'd kept them in check for too long, not letting them explore more than a kiss on the head and a hug on the sofa, and now they were rebelling inside of him. He noted absently that it was the same sort of feeling he had after they buried Fred, a sense of having to act, to do _something_ just to make sure he was still there, still alive and in charge of his life. Back then he wanted to punch a wall, snap a broom, dig a hole next to Fred and bury himself next to him, but now there was something he could do, something to change his fate or path in life, and he was sick of holding it back.

He stood up slowly, flexing the muscles in his fingers as he looked at her. His body felt like rock and like fire, unable to move his tense body but ready to jump over to her and set her alight.

 _You do anything to her, it'll fuck it all up_ his little voice reminded him.

 _If I don't try I'll never be able to give up_ he argued back mentally.

"George? You're scaring me." she whispered. He stopped flexing his fingers, realising he'd been staring at her the whole time. He blinked a few times and the feeling of drowning receded some, but not enough.

"Hermione, please, love, just once. Please, just... I need to know." He begged as quietly as she had been.

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. She tried to say something but her words died as he reached out to cup her face. Her hair seemed tame as it brushed against his fingers, not as wild as usual, not a reflection of how he felt inside. Her eyes widened as his thumb ran lightly across her cheek, calmer than he was. She must've understood what he'd wanted and he was so close to closing the gap between them, closer than he dared possible, but he waited for her permission. He wasn't as impulsive as he was in another lifetime, he couldn't fuck this up. If he jumped her now he knew any chance of "them" would be done for.

"George…" she trailed off, not giving him any indication of whether he could lean in. It infuriated the fierce side of him that was rearing his head, but it gave him time to take a deep breath that shuddered in his lungs.

"Say no and I'll go. Say no and I'll forget this ever happened." he said.

"Just once." she said, barely loud enough for his one ear to pick up on. He looked at her, studying her face to make sure she wasn't just saying it to make him happy. He couldn't see anything but a hesitant hope in her eyes and in her brow; he could tell because it was what he realised the water inside him was.

With her permission he stepped in, increasing his grip on her the slightest bit more as he leaned closer. Her eyes, her wide eyes that he'd spent so long studying and reading as he fell for her flickered shut, and he could contain himself no more.

His lips met hers and the awareness of his watery cage disappeared, leaving him with the feeling of softness and completion. He moved his lips experimentally against hers and she followed his lead, putting a hand on his waist to steady herself. He felt like a teenager again as his body became hyperaware of everywhere her hand was touch and everything her lips were doing against his. She had told him he could do this just once, so he was determined to shut his mind up and give it his all.

Hermione let go of his waist and wrapped both arms fully around him, pulling him completely against her as he fought against the need to come up for air. Whether it was because she was indulging him or enjoying herself he didn't know, but she held on tight regardless. He was going slow because he hadn't done this in years, and he realised belatedly that it almost the same for her.

The need for air was burning his lungs, almost bringing him to the point of painful tears. He ended the searing kiss reluctantly, breaking his promise of just one with a small peck to her closed lips. One of his hands had made it to the back of her head at one point, cradling her tilted head and surely knotting her hair as she gazed at him through her lashes. Her hands were still around George's waist loosely, as if unsure of what to do with herself now.

He supposed this was when the mental bashing should've began. He should've felt angry at himself, disappointed that he couldn't keep his cool like he had every other fucking night he'd been at her place, especially when they were late for dinner at his parents. _Ginny_.

The thought of his little sister and her teasing words made George snap out of his thoughts, stepping back until Hermione's arms no longer circled him. He turned away from her as he raked his hand through his hair. He'd just snogged _Hermione Granger_ , and now he had to go to dinner and act like nothing happened? Ginny would be able to smell the guilt pouring off of him, forcing her to do something like th-

"George." Hermione said to his back. He couldn't turn around just yet, he hadn't figured out how to apologise.

Her hand came to rest at his shoulder, not applying enough pressure to force him to turn around but enough for her to know she was there, waiting. He knew that they should've left ages ago, dinner would've started without them at this point, yet he still couldn't face his family, couldn't face _her_. There had been signs in the past that she'd wanted the same thing, sure, but they were signs he was sorely convinced he had conjured out of thin air to make him hold onto hope.

"George, you need to talk to me." she pleaded.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked turning around and shielding himself with his hair.

She drew a breath, sliding her hand from his shoulder to his palm. "I want you to explain why you said just once." she said quietly, watching herself rub the back of his hand with her thumb.

Her request wasn't what he expected at all. He was waiting for the "what the fuck?" (well, "what in the world"; it was Hermione after all.) or the "you've ruined everything!" speech. Maybe she was just biding her time.

"Because," she continued, oblivious to his internal struggle, "that didn't feel like a 'just once' sort of thing. Not to me."

George took a deep breath. He was hearing what she was saying but his heart and his head were mixing the signals. He went with his head. "Because you told me yourself, you're not looking for anyone."

She laughed then, a melodic bubble of energy in the tense room. "That was months ago! I was thinking about moving to Australia for a few months as well, but things change, don't they?"

His heart did a happy dance in his chest but his mind refused to give in. "Even if that changed, you said you wanted someone who didn't know who you were."

"That's because I was scared." Hermione said, a trace of her laugh still left on her features. "I didn't want to have to explain myself to anyone, to relive all the terrible things I went through, the hideous things I did to survive, but that doesn't matter with you, does it? You already know everything, you helped me deal with it all."

She looked up at him then, moving his hair out of his face and holding back the side that couldn't be tucked behind his ear. "Love, I…"

"Why do you call me love?"

"I don't know." He lied after a pause. She sent him a look that clearly said she knew it was bullshit. "I can't explain it, alright? You're not Hermione, you're just…love. I think of you at work and I'm happy, I come over to your place and I'm happier, and when you Floo over to my place I'm ecstatic. You make things look up, you shine when I feel dark and alone, and I'm not sure what sort of stupid shit I'm saying right now because my heads a mess, but when I call you love it makes me feel like a little piece of you is mine."

She smiled to herself at whatever nonsense he just sprouted and focused on playing with a lock of his hair. "You want me to be yours?"

It was now or never, wasn't it?

"Yes." He breathed out, afraid to say it even though he knew he'd come out the other end just fine regardless of how she took his answer. "But you won't be."

"And why's that?" she asked, looking into his eyes. He thought he could detect a hint of amusement in her tone.

"Because you're too lovely and amazing and selfless to not be shared."

"Shared with who? The wizarding world?" He nodded at her question. "I nearly died, George. Several times. Every time it was for the wizarding world. I'm allowed to be selfish now. It's time for me to be happy." Her hands linked behind his neck, giving her leverage as she stood on her toes. "Can you help me find my happiness again?"

"'Course I will, love. We help each other."

This wasn't one of his dreams, was it? She was actually kissing him, not snogging him back, but initiating and leading and _kissing_ him. He thought he'd have to pinch himself as her hands were replaced by her arms around his neck. She was barely tall enough to each him but he held her firm around the hips; they were so close that no air could pass between them. He almost dropped her in surprised when her tongue stroked his bottom lip, that was definitely something that didn't happen in his dreams. He followed her lead, letting her keep control as she had done for him yet still trying to convey everything he was feeling through his touch, to let her know how much he…well, how much he loved her.

She leant out of the embrace slightly puffing and looking thoroughly snogged. He leant his forehead against hers, unwilling to stop their connection even though their arms were around each other, and when she opened her eyes she was greeted by George's smile that he was pretty sure wouldn't leave his face for a week. Her smile was sweet in return, full of an optimism and delight he didn't have to be jealous of.

"We should probably go." she whispered.

"Gimme a minute." he said, muffling his words into the crook of her neck. She hugged him tighter, not speaking as they held each other close.

The fire roared to life, transitioning from orange to green as Ginny's head reappeared in the flames. Her eyes were screwed shut as she yelled for the two of them.

"We're right here, Ginny. Why are your eyes shut?" Hermione asked.

"Because I didn't want to have to Scourgify them if you were all doing what we thought you were doing." Ginny retorted as she opened one eye. Determining that they were both fully dressed and not touching, she opened both. "Judging by George's grin something's happened. Hermione, if you want people to know about it, hurry the hell up before I outshine you both."

"What're you talking about, sis?" George asked.

She huffed, sending a small flame into the air as she did. "You would know if you actually made it to dinner late, but no, you missed the entire meal. I promise you if you're not here within the next five minutes, I will never forgive you. Ever." With that, her head disappeared from the fire as it turned back to green.

"What do you say, love?" he asked, reaching out to take her hand.

"To what?"

"Do you want people to know about it?"

"Do you want people to know we're together?"

"They already do." he grinned. "Well, Ange thought we were together today at least. I'll have to send her an owl and correct myself."

"Then it's settled." she said with a tone of finality and squeezed his hand. "We better go, I don't want Ginny to kill me."

He sent her a squeeze and let go of her hand. "You first or I?"

"You." Hermione said without hesitation. He laughed and kissed her on the forehead – if he kissed her like he wanted to his sister would become a murderer. "I'll see you there, yeah?" he confirmed.

"I'm right behind you."

 

* * *

 

 

"Finally! I'm abut ready to strangle both of you with your own hairs. What did you do?" Ginny demanded to know as George came through to the Burrow via Floo. She was the only one in the room besides him, everyone else must've been eating dessert or mingling in the kitchen.

"I…I kissed her." George said in a quiet excitement. Ginny only stared at him as she registered the earth shattering news that didn't seem to affect her as much as he'd hoped.

"Okay?" was the reply that came. Hermione still hadn't come through which worried him, she'd said she'd be right behind him. "What's so good about that?"

"What?! You're the one who's been harping on about how bloody brilliant we'd be together!" he scowled.

"Yeah but that doesn't mean you mi- hang on, was that?"

"Yeah." George grinned as she realisation dawned on his little sister's face.

A matching grin grew on Ginny's face as Hermione came through the fireplace, now with a tight braid instead of loose curls. She was smiling at George as she stepped through but it faded as she looked between him and Ginny and noted their expressions. He relieved her of his discomfort by stepping forward and planting a quick kiss to her lips. "You ready?"

"She's been ready for months, idiot. Hurry up into the dining room, I have gifts!" Ginny sang out as she bounced through the archway and away from the two of them. Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze as she took a deep breath.

"Relax, love. They thought we were already together; well, Ginny did anyway, that probably means they all did." he reassured her.

"If you say so. Together?" she asked as she swung their entwined hands slightly.

"Together." George confirmed as he took the first step.

The pair walked into the dining room and he noticed boxes of different shapes and sizes in front of all the chairs, except for where Victorie's place at the table was, wrapping was everywhere and she was playing with a fuzzy bear on Bill's lap that he hadn't seen before.

"Oh, there you two are! We were all so worried!" his mum cried as she reached out and hugged him tightly. He let go of Hermione's hand briefly to pat his mum on the back, letting go one she'd squeezed him hard enough to help him grow another centimetre or two. She moved onto Hermione next and gave her the same treatment, only stopping to lean back and hold her outstretched. "Is everything alright, dears?"

"Everything's fine, Mum." he said as she inspected Hermione's face, probably searching for tell-tale signs of tears.

"We are, really." Hermione added on. She let go of Hermione and clasped her hands in front of her, turning her head only to admonish Charlie who'd burped loudly. He reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand in the short distraction, which unfortunately was still caught by the Weasley children.

"Mum, I'd say they're more than fine." Charlie quipped, nodding his head towards their joint hands. Molly turned back to face them and looked down, smiling brightly to herself as she tutted and fussed over the two of them.

"I'd go so far and say they're positively okay." Ron joined in as he nudged Charlie.

"Well whatever they are I'd say they need to sit down; Ginny looks ready to kill them." Percy said as he watched his sister. George looked at her where she was sitting, she looked happy enough but was drumming her fingers on the table. She stopped as she realised what she was doing, leaning back in her chair that Harry had his arm around the back of. "I've been waiting to do these presents for a month." Ginny said. "I'm happy for you, really, but I wanna get them opened before dessert. They were _supposed_ to be before dinner, but not everyone turned up, did they?" Ginny said with a glint of mischief as George sat down in front of a box with bright purple wrapping. Hermione sat next to him with a blush, looking determinedly at the small white bag in front of her.

"Now," started Ginny. "I've been travelling a lot, far too much, actually, and these are just small things I picked up on the way. They might not be terribly exciting, but you know how it is when you've got money burning a hole in your pocket." She smiled at her siblings as she said that and they all smirked knowingly. "I only ask that you two open yours last, is that alright?"

"Perfectly fine, Ginny." Arthur said from the head of the table.

Ginny looked at everyone else. "Well, go on!" she said in excitement.

The room became loud with the sounds of ripping paper and noises of delight. Harry didn't have a gift, however Ron received a signed Chudley Cannons banner which he examined in delight; Charlie thanked Ginny very much for his gift of aged Swedish mead while Fleur and Bill showed off their Dutch vase to Victorie that Ginny pointed out matched their living room in Shell Cottage quite nicely. Percy was already organising his Austrian inks and quills while explaining the importance of a sturdy set of quills for work done for the Ministry at home, which George found to be a rather redundant conversation considering their father had worked years longer than Percy had been alive. He didn't say anything though, he was too busy staring at the gift Ginny had gotten Hermione. The black box it came in had a kangaroo on the front, so the necklace she was touching lightly must've been from Australia, somewhere Ginny hadn't been in months. The pale blue gem inside the silver encasing sparkled with bursts of orange and green when light reflected on it, and George knew it would suit her perfectly.

"It's an Australian opal." Ginny explained. "Technically that's a crystal opal, but don't ask me what that means because I have no idea - here's a handout under the jewellery pillow if you want to have a look later. Anyway, it wasn't the brightest one there and certainly not the biggest, but it's modest enough to wear whenever, yeah? I hate things that are too flashy to wear once every five years, I always forget about them when I get dressed for fancy occasions, but I saw that one and thought it would work really well with your hair and your eyes. I think George agrees." Ginny finished by smirking at him. He didn't give a shit, instead he held his hand out for Hermione to drop the necklace into as she held her hair out of the way. He fumbled with the clasp slightly as he put it on her, but he got there in the end.

Hermione turned to get his approval of the necklace and he nodded without speaking. Ginny was right, the colour didn't exactly match her eyes or her hair, but somehow the mix of colours complimented both perfectly. She turned to face Ginny and thank her yet again, and the necklace looked purple instead of blue. Full of surprises that opal was, just like Hermione.

"What did you get?" she asked him.

"No idea." he said as he shook the box that was inside the purple wrapping. He couldn't see an opening or a close, but he could definitely hear something inside of it. When he tilted it away from him slowly he could feel something in there too.

Ginny laughed as he played with the box. "You need to owl me when you work out how to open it, took me a month and a half to open mine." she said brightly as he scowled. He had to fiddle with this thing for a whole month to get a present?

"You'll work it out." Hermione said quietly from his side as she rested a hand above his knee. He leant over and kissed her cheek in response to her encouragement. One of his brothers let out a wolf whistle as he did, and he glared at their guiltless expressions sarcastically.

Harry was the only one not seeming to enjoy the gift receiving as everyone else. George had no idea why; as much as it made him want to Scourgify his eyes and brain he imagined Ginny would've given him _something_ once every few times she came home from her travels. Instead his eyes were darting around to everyone, looking for clues or hints or something that he couldn't work out. George noticed that Harry's eyes rarely strayed to his parents, but it was most likely because they'd hadn't opened their presents.

As if on cue Ginny stood up and raised her voice above the talking, as one did in the Burrow if they wanted everyone's attention. She continued to stand as she spoke. "I hope everyone enjoyed their gifts, and you can all stop thanking me, they're gifts because you've all supported me throughout the years and because I love you all, yes, even you, Ronald. Now it's time for Mum and Dad to open their presents, but I recommend Dad goes first. Dad?"

His dad nodded and began ripping open the paper excitedly. George couldn't see anything, the large box was on the floor next to his father, but he could see the wrapping paper being thrown everywhere. The box inside was carefully opened at Ginny's insistence, and once it opened Arthur look at her with wonder. "Ginny," he began, slightly choking out the words. "This…this is too much, Ginbug, you shouldn't have-"

"But I did, though." Ginny replied. "I did because I wanted to and because I knew how much it would mean to you. Open it up." she encouraged. Arthur stood up, lifting what he thought was a piece of rolled parchment but what rapidly expanded into a tapestry of some sort. His dad beckoned Percy to help him unroll it with him, and together they revealed a blank tapestry save for a border and a title that read "Weasley" in bold, capital letters. "I remember you telling me there was an old motto for the Weasley's years ago before bed but I couldn't find it anywhere. If you want to add it under the heading you can with the needle. It's all very thought out, you can just speak to it after casting the spell and it'll write anything. Hide that spell from George."

Their dad laughed at that, but it was choked with happy tears. "You didn't have to do this, Gin." was all he could say.

"But I saw it and thought about how happy it would make you. I know you don't want to forget anyone or treat them as long gone or whatever, and this way no one can ever forget them, as long as we have a blast-free pact that saves it from becoming like the Black family tapestry." Ginny commented. "I have no idea where you're going to hang it when it's done, though. That's the only problem I could see with it."

"It's perfect, Ginny; thank you so much." Arthur said as he walked over and kissed her on the head. Ginny smiled broadly as she turned towards her mother and her present, a medium sized box sitting on the table in front of her with a bright pink bow on it. Harry looked terrified of it.

His mum started to unwrap the bow, pulling at the end of it until it fell apart. The box did too, falling apart at the sides to reveal a set of fancy knitting needles and two balls of thick wool, emerald green in colour and looked like they'd be fuzzy if you stroked them. Molly gasped as she handled the needles that were engraved and crafted so well they almost looked like delicate silver wands. "These are gorgeous, dear; where did you get them?"

"Germany, about a month or two ago. The wool is from Greece." Ginny said as she took Harry's hand. The poor bloke looked ready to chuck up his dinner or run. His wife's thumb ran over the back of his hand soothingly as she talked to her mother. "It reminded me of Harry's eyes, but I was hoping you could make a jumper out of it."

"Oh, dear, I don't think I could. See the way the wool is structured?" Molly said as she inspected the wool closely, "It's too exquisite to enlarge or duplicate enough to make a jumper for you, I'm so sorry. If you could pick up some more I could make you one, otherwise I could make one for Victorie?"

"Could you make it for someone smaller than Victorie?" Ginny asked with excitement taking over her voice. "I don't have their measurements yet but I could get them for you soon."

"Of course, dear, I'm excited to use these needles, they look far too fancy to be spelled to do work. Who's the jumper for?"

"For Lily. Lily Luna Potter."

A wave of confusion washed over the table, gradually breaking as various people caught on and looked down at Ginny's slightly-bulging-if-you-looked-at-the-right-angle stomach. She rested her free hand over said stomach lightly and whispered to the silent table.

"I'm five months pregnant."

George could only describe the scene as hysteria. His mother had instantly started crying over her new needles and wool while their father rubbed her back with his own unshed tears. Charlie and Ron had started to call out various congratulations over one another, and Percy was shaking Harry's hand and giving him advice that he probably wasn't listening to. Bill had let out a whoop of excitement at the same time Charlie had called out something decidedly crass, and the combined loud noises had scared Victorie off his lap and into her mother's arms. Fleur picked her up and started to spin, saying "No tears, mon Cherie, you vill have another friend, a cousin!"

George didn't know what to think. He was thrilled that Ginny was pregnant even though he thought she was too young for a woman of the modern era, but he wouldn't let it stop her if she was happy. It was times like these where he wanted to escape outdoors with a bottle of Firewhisky and pray his brother was back. People were moving on, moving forwards with their lives while he was stuck underground with a fading grin on his face. He knew that it was a bad thing to think when he was told he'd be an uncle, but he couldn't help it. Lily would only know her uncle through stories and photos, though there'd be plenty to go around.

There was movement beside him as Hermione walked around the table to hug Harry and congratulate him. When Molly finally removed herself from sobbing happily all over Ginny Hermione swooped in, claiming she should've known and all the clues that she could see looking back on her behaviour. The table laughed at that and Hermione blushed, looking towards George for help. He grinned at her and shrugged, telling her silently that there was nothing he could do. Ron held Hermione's shoulders and moved her away to encase his sister in a bear hug, rapidly telling her his plans to turn Lily into a Cannons supporter.

Hermione moved back to George's side and slid an arm around his waist. It wasn't something he'd suppose she'd do normally in front of everyone so early in their relationship, but with all the excitement and love going around she probably had gotten swept up in it herself. Her touch brought him out of his melancholy some, but he still felt the absence of Fred like a void in the room.

"She's going to be spoilt, isn't she?" Hermione asked with a smile. "She's got so many people that love her already…I would've done anything for a great big family like this growing up."

"You've had this family while growing up." George pointed out.

"You know what I mean." she said as the arm around his waist pulled him closer. "All this love and energy and happiness, she's going to love the onslaught of uncles. Even the ones that aren't here." she said pointedly, quietly enough that no one around them would overhear the bleak conversation in the jubilant room.

Of course she knew what he was thinking. She probably knew him better than anyone these days, even better than Lee or his brothers. "It just sucks, y'know? He should be here celebrating."

"He should." she agreed. "Because this is what we fought for; we fought for the future, for a new life. Even after all this time I still can't fathom what it felt like, what it _feels_ like to lose Fred, but he was fighting so kids like Victorie and Lily won't have to. I think he'd be pretty happy with what his passing has turned into, wouldn't you?"

He would. He would've been thrilled to be an uncle, to teach them the ways of the master prankster who could terrorise his siblings from afar. He would've loved to see if they'd say Uncle Fred or Uncle George first, and he would've been a great father himself someday. All that was left of him was great memories that he was trying everyday not to taint with the sadness and grief he still felt, but weren't they all? His dad would add Fred's birthday and deathday to the new Weasley Tapestry, and Ginny would have a baby that he would treasure like no other and tell stories about. Lily would live in a world that Fred made a safer place, that they all made a safer place, and she'd live a life filled with jokes and pranks and too much love for one person, much like Victorie was. She'd learn about what they lost during those dark years, maybe even through the book that had brought two misguided people into each other's lives to heal their hearts together.

Maybe one day he'd even have his own children to share his memories of their Uncle Fred with. He'd told Hermione he couldn't be a parent because he simply couldn't cope with the pain of losing a child, but maybe he could celebrate what they'd achieved, what they'd fought for. Maybe Hermione could be the one to travel the path of parenthood with him. Maybe they'd just enjoy what they had together for a long time without sharing anymore of themselves with the world. Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to be happy, to face his problems with her and move forward from his brother's passing once and for all. There was a future, and he wanted it now.

"Yeah." George said as he stared at his happy family, milled around the endless joys and possibilities that the new life had brought before her arrival. "I think he would."

 


End file.
